


Graves into Gardens

by AnastasiaNoelle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Captivity, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaNoelle/pseuds/AnastasiaNoelle
Summary: Four years ago, Reiner Braun betrayed the The Scouts, he and his comrades Annie and Bertholdt fleeing back to the nation of Marley.But now, Zeke has taken interest in one of his old team members, hoping to use her as leverage in his plots to undermine the government of Paradis. Reiner is forced to face his past sins and reforge a relationship with a living reminder of his misdeeds, with a woman who despises him possibly more than he hates himself.A classic enemies to lovers story set in a modern era, alternate universe Attack on Titan world.
Relationships: Reiner Braun/Original Character(s), Reiner Braun/Original Female Character(s), Reiner Braun/Reader
Comments: 328
Kudos: 975





	1. Living Ghosts

You were having that same dream again, the one where you felt like you were dying. Your shoulder ached with the memory of bursting pain, but there were warm hands there, holding you, pressing down to keep the bleeding at bay. You could never recognize the face, never identify the voice, your ears still ringing from the sound of a piercing gunshot. It was always the same; a delirious memory warped into a nightmare. Sometimes the dream ended in the hospital, other times with you staring at the inside of a coffin, or in a shallow grave.

But this time, you were waking up, eyes flickering open to meet harsh fluorescent lights and clinking, cold handcuffs around your wrists.

A white-hot sense of dread pooled over your body.

You knew where you were. You knew how you got here. And suddenly, you wished you were dreaming again.

You could still see it all, still hear the deafening blades of the helicopter whirring above you. None of your team had expected the Marleyans to be in the warehouse; they hadn’t been on the soil of Paradis in years. They’d caught you off guard and sent your escape plan into action sooner than expected. You’d tried to follow Mikasa and Armin, but Jean was in your way. The lines of your vertical movement gear had tangled with his as you both hurriedly attempted to ascend and meet Levi in the aircraft, sending you spiraling back into the window, back into enemy territory.

Someone kicked you in the skull when you landed, you could still feel your head throbbing with the soreness. That must’ve been what did you in, what made you easy pickings to become a captive to the Marleyan government.

You sat up, taking note of your surroundings: of course, they’d put you in a cell, one void of a bed but thankfully containing a _fucking bucket_. How considerate. Just outside the iron bars was a table scattered with broken pieces of your gear, undoubtedly torn apart to be studied and to keep you from using it to escape.

Anger brewed inside your chest, a familiar feeling of betrayal returning that you hadn’t felt in years. There were faces here you didn’t want to see, enemies with broken facades that still haunted your thoughts at night. People you’d trusted, people you’d loved.

You knew they would show themselves soon. If you were still alive, it’s because there were questions that Zeke Yeagar wanted answers to, tendrils of doubt and duplicity that he wanted to sink into your mind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Reiner felt sick. He’d never wanted to see you again, yet he’d been the one to carry your unconscious body through the compound, to cuff you and leave you on the frigid concrete floor. He’d stood over your figure for a while, heart pounding his chest out of fear that you’d wake up and flash that scrutinizing gaze of yours toward him again. But you’d just laid there at his feet, small, vulnerable, like a lost memory washed back upon the shores of his life.

And of course, now that you were awake, you weren’t talking, refusing to take Zeke’s bait.

He watched the older man pace around the room, glasses glinting as he wrung his hands. Truly, Reiner had been surprised that Zeke didn’t kill you on the spot, instead opting to transport you all the way across the border to their headquarters, insistent that you be treated like precious cargo. Though, it had been hard to keep Porco from poking at your body in the floorboards of the armored truck. Reiner had tried to keep his gaze away from you, eyes glued to the dark horizon outside of the rain smeared window. Maybe if he had stopped looking at you, you would have disappeared.

There was something pressing Zeke, something worrying him that he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the warriors. He thought you knew something, or perhaps that you could be valuable in some way.

Reiner knew that if you were to live, you needed to speak, needed to give them a piece of information to work with. He placed his head in his hands at the table, palms rubbing at his eyes. He shouldn’t—he _didn’t_ —care if you took your last breath here. You were the enemy, someone who’d once held a knife to his throat when his true intentions within the ranks of The Scouts were revealed. He almost wished you’d killed him then, that you’d ended all the years of misery and regret that still clung to his mind like a poisonous leech.

“Maybe she’ll give in to someone she knows,” Zeke stopped his pacing, attention turning to Annie Leonhart who sat across from Reiner, “why don’t you give it a go?”

“Absolutely not,” she rejected, long legs crossing at the ankles upon the table.

“Bertholdt tells me that you two were quite the comrades during your reconnaissance mission.”

“I wouldn’t say that. We just found each other tolerable. Bertie was always sweet on her, though.”

Zeke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Bertholdt is kind to everyone, he’s as soft as they come.”

Bertholdt, per usual, stayed quiet in the face of Zeke’s remarks.

Porco Galliard chuckled at that statement, straightening his shoulders before he spoke.

“Which is exactly why you should’ve sent me to Paradis instead, Chief. I could give her a go. You were being too easy on her, anyways. Once you start ripping off fingernails people really start to give in, you know.”

Reiner’s gut twisted at the thought.

“You’re not allowed anywhere near her, Gailliard,” Zeke crossed his arms as a smirk settled into the lines of his beard, “she’s far too pretty, you’d break down and grovel to her before it was all over.”

Galliard huffed, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks as he shrunk down in his seat.

“Reiner—”

He had an inkling that it would come down to this. There would be no point in disputing it, he’d have to come face to face with his past, with sins he thought he left behind four years ago.

He stood before Zeke could complete his thought, heavy knuckles rapping at the wood of the table.

“Well, looks like we finally have a volunteer.”

Every inch of Reiner’s skin bristled as he marched down the corridor to the prison cells. His footsteps were jarring, heavy, like he was determined to leave prints in the floor to mark a final walk of shame. Some part of him hoped you’d be gone when he opened the door, that you would have used your wits and crawled through some air duct and run away from this, from him.

He almost didn’t turn the door handle. He felt invisible, burdensome hands pulling at his shoulders, calling at him to run. He’d always been a coward, especially when it came to _you_. He hated you, loathed you because he knew you pegged him as fraud from the beginning. You never threw a kind word in his direction, always looked at him like he was below you, like his pride meant nothing to you.

Reiner just wished that you had meant nothing to him. Even when the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn’t even find the strength to kill you like his orders demanded. He wondered if you remembered it at all, if your memories had finally flooded back after all this time. Something inside his heart wouldn’t let him that night, some unknown, egregious feeling that by some means overshadowed his hatred. 

That feeling returned when he entered the room and found you sitting with your back to the wall, your tightly bound hands in your lap.

He took in a deep breath as he averted his gaze, teeth gritting at the sight of you awake. Zeke was right, four years had done you justice; time had only made you more beautiful than before, and he worried he might fall to his knees before you.

“Reiner.”

Sometimes, he just really wished people would stop saying his name.

━━━─── • ───━━━

A strange relief settled into your stomach at the sight of him. Reiner was as hulking as ever, broad shoulders stretching the threads of his shirt to their limits. But he was different, older…demure, in some ways. He didn’t hold his head as high anymore, didn’t immediately cross his arms across his barreled chest to appear larger. He took tired, golden eyes less intense than you last remembered. His fingers rubbed at his lips, at the facial hair that adorned more pronounced cheekbones.

You hated to admit that he appeared even more handsome than you remembered.

There was a red armband tied around his bicep, an insignia emblazoned on it that you’d never seen before.

“Do I make you nervous, Braun?”

You caught his attention then, made his eyes look at you as you leaned your head back against the stone wall.

“Tough question from the one behind bars.”

His voice had changed, too. He sounded more stoic, more serious. There used to be a hint of glee under that tongue of his.

“Why am I here?”

“I’m supposed to be the one asking you things.”

You shrugged, biting at your cheek as you wiggled your toes to try to make them feel again. Your limbs were starting to ache, your head too, body feeling like it was starting to cement to the floor. You didn’t want to be Zeke Yeagar’s plaything, but you knew that if you were alive, there was something they wanted. There was some leverage you held, but you weren’t sure what it was just yet. You had hoped they would send Bertholdt in to talk to you, you always could get under his skin.

Reiner was a more difficult case for you. He always coated himself in arrogance, made it harder for you to chip away at his armor. He never let anyone in, just always grinned, acted like he had everything under control. But before you was a man with cracks, a man that time and guilt had eroded. You almost felt sorry for him, _almost_. A man like him deserved to bear the weight of his burdens.

“Listen, if you don’t start talking—”

“You’ll what? Kill me?”

“We’ll torture you.”

He said the words with a weight that knocked you back a bit, stole the last breath of gusto you were holding onto. You expected as much, but hearing it said aloud made fear crawl up your spine, made the cuffs around your wrist feel even more strained against your skin.

“What do you want to know? I could tell Yeagar was prodding for something tangible to use against Paradis.”

“I just want to know what you know about us, if you know anything about what Marley has been doing in the last few years.”

“You’ve been fighting a war, that much I know.”

And he looked like he had been through battle, been through hell in trenches and gunfire. Your intelligence agents had reported that Braun had been promoted to be Vice Commander of the Warrior Unit, and the hardline of his frown told you he’d seen more horrors than you wanted to know about.

“Tell me something you don’t know from news headlines.”

Levi had trained all his scouts for this situation once upon a time ago. You could still hear his voice in your head, commanding you to give up as little as possible, learn what the enemy wanted and then give them something else to cling on to. You had a few things you knew you could feed to them, beneficial tidbits that would satiate their hunger and keep them from feasting upon your teammates. But relaying any kind of information was a death sentence within itself; give the dogs a treat and eventually they’ll want more.

And you knew that Reiner, that _Zeke Yeagar_ , was a very greedy host.

You stood slowly, releasing the aching tension in your lower back. Reiner didn’t flinch away from his place beyond the rusting iron, instead eyeing you like you were some exotic thing in a cage.

There was a nostalgia of being in his presence, even if the atmosphere around him was contrary to what you were used to perceiving. He still made your blood boil, still made your fighting instincts come alive in the back of your mind. You still felt small in his shadow, but there was still a lingering feeling, a fleeting memory, about how being around him once made you feel safe.

Your bare feet moved toward him, toes stinging against the cold of the floor.

One of your hands wrapped around a bar to your prison, the metal of your handcuffs clinking against the barrier.

You could catch his scent from being this close, and at least that much stayed the same—he always smelled like cedarwood, earthy and sweet, like the spice of the forest floor after a fresh rain. It was almost funny how smell created memories more frequently than any other sense. 

Suddenly, you felt like you were back home, like nothing had changed, as if his deceit had never been revealed. Your mind’s eye flashed images of your old training camp, of Reiner lifting Connie onto his shoulders after the small boy had successfully managed to triumph over Jean in his marksmanship practice. He’d used one of the tricks that Reiner had taught him. That once sweet memory turned sour as you remembered just _why_ Reiner was always such a good shot.

You tilted your chin up to look at him, to come face-to-face with the imposing penumbra you thought you’d warded off. He was a living ghost brought back to haunt you once again.

“You seem pathetic, Braun, like you’ve lost all that bravado that made you so special.”

He took your words, let them bounce off his chest like you hadn’t even spoken them.

“Why did they send _you_ in here? Did they really expect I’d crack under such pitiful pressure? You’re a deplorable, miserable—”

His fist wrapped around your hand, crushing your fingers between his might and the metal bar you’d secured yourself to.

You hissed at the pain, but…there was something you had missed in that touch of his; he felt warm, worn, like there were secrets being pressed into your skin.

“Be. Quiet.”

You expected his fingers to flex, waited for him to crack your fingers under his pressure. But he kept his strength at bay, electing to keep a steady, continuous tension against your knuckles.

“Talk, or tomorrow will be your last day. You wouldn’t want to die at the hands of a pathetic, wretched man like me, would you? No, you’re too proud for that.”

He took a step back, releasing his bruising grip before turning on his heels to leave.

A string of panic began to uncoil inside you, snapping as his arm extended towards the exit.

“Reiner,” you called, “tell me something. How much do you really know about Zeke Yeagar?”

“I know enough.”

“No, you don’t,” you were starting to sound worried, you could hear it, “there’s something I know that you don’t, and I’d be willing to give you information in return for you answering a question for me.”

You could feel your heart beating in your chest, every pump within your ribs like the ticking of an oppressive clock. He was silent, steady, back still turned away from you. You noticed that his fists were clenched by his side, a vein starting to appear up the exposed length of his forearm.

“I’ll consider it. Depends on what your question is.”

He still didn’t turn to look at you.

“Reiner…tell me what happened to Marco.”

The door was slamming shut before the last syllable of the dead man’s name left your lips.


	2. Sins of the Past

Reiner laid flat on his back, chest twisting with melancholy as he eyed the lazy ceiling fan. He couldn’t sleep even if he tried, not with the day’s events still so fresh in his mind. Everything happened too quickly, a whirling rush of movements and decisions that left him caught in a purgatory of past and present. When Zeke had kicked your head into the floor, Reiner instinctively put pressure on the trigger of the gun squeezed too tightly in his hand. He wondered if things would be easier if he had taken the situation into his own hands and not let you live to torment him another day. **  
**

Though, he knew the ghost and the guilt would haunt him even more than your living presence.

That saying was rolling around in his brain, the one his mother always used to recite whenever he’d get into mischief as a child, _be sure your sins will find you out._

Well, they had, and one of his biggest regrets was now asking him about fucking _Marco Bott_. How long had it been since he heard that name? The Scouts had stopped muttering it even before the boy’s blood ran cold. He still remembered the smell of gun smoke, remembered how Bertie had fallen into his chest and cried at the horror of it all.

But there was nothing new to be said about that past, yet even still, Reiner feared that you already knew what had been left unsaid.

━━━─── • ───━━━

He hadn’t even bothered to undress, just let his weight sink into his mattress until his restlessness got the better of him. He knew his agonies would call to be smothered, that his frustrations would lead to him marching down the same hallway to face the inquiries of an equally troubled mind.

He debated going to Zeke first. He knew his comrades would still be up in the meeting room, sleep and disgust in their eyes. Last he checked in, the Chief had Bertie scribbling on the whiteboard as he threw out all the notions and ideas that they had on how to break you down, on what you could possibly know that would be of interest to them. Reiner hadn’t stayed long enough to watch the black ink dry—he didn’t want them to pry into his time with you. He’d told them just enough: you didn’t give him anything worthwhile other than admitting you might speak if you were fed information from their side as well. When he’d left, the last thing written out in bold letters was a list of lies to feed you.

Reiner was going to end this shit. One way or another, you were going to disappear from his life again; he was going to throw you back into the sea of the past where you belonged, dead or alive.

A sick pride boiled inside of him as he saw the shock and fear spread across your pretty face as he threw open the heavy metal door. _Good, you should be scared of him._

He spoke your name with a bitterness he’d become too familiar with, dragging a chair from against the wall to sit directly in front of your iron cage.

He’d only been gone a few hours, yet you already looked more tired, a little more frail, like if he screamed too loudly you might melt into a puddle where you sat on the floor.

Too much time alone with nasty thoughts can make you weak, that much he knew all too well.

He cleared his throat, cracking his knuckles beneath his fist, “Listen to me. You talk now, and maybe I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly before the others get the chance to come pick at your bones.”

“You know my stipulation, Braun,” he watched your eyes narrow, determination coating your voice, “answer my question and I’ll answer yours. Let me die knowing the truth about—”

“There is no truth about _Marco_.”

“I know you had something to do with it. I kept finding holes in your story, and now that I know who you _really_ are, I have no doubt that there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

An angry sigh rushed out of his nose. He didn’t know what he was thinking coming back here so soon, why did he ever suspect that you’d ease up on this issue? He should’ve known that all your disdain for him began when that idiot got himself killed.

“Marco was cute and clumsy, you know that. He was in the wrong place at the wrong—”

“No, he wasn’t!” you sat up on your knees, shackled hands shaking, “I trained that kid myself. I know he knew how to use his gear; I know he wouldn’t just…he _couldn’t_ have gotten into that situation alone.”

“You’re running out of time. Stop wasting your breath on something as useless as Marco Bott.”

He could tell there were more words brewing in your mouth, but you were swallowing them down.

Reiner leaned his elbows on his knees, burdensome back hunching as he debated what to do here. He watched you closely for a moment, saw how you were constantly shifting your weight, fidgeting with the cuffs around your wrists. Bruises were blooming on your skin, especially around the tender flesh of your fingers where he had crushed them earlier. A vile mixture of remorse and compassion spread down his nerves at the sight of you.

“My friends don’t know I’m here,” he admitted, observing how your still brilliant eyes looked up at him.

“I was once your friend, you know.”

You spoke the words so slowly, so dolefully that he actually felt them begin to pierce at his heart.

“We were never friends.”

That much, he knew, was a lie.

━━━─── • ───━━━

_“Reiner,” your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as you stared into his golden eyes. He felt dangerous, fingers mean against your flesh, digging into your thigh, petting at the column of your throat._

_But you felt protected, secure, your hands threatening to tear at the buttons of his shirt from how tightly you clung to him. You craved a comfort that you’d come to find from being pressed against his body._

_“I’d kill someone for you, I hope you know that.”_

You wondered if the same memory was playing in his mind, behind his older, more noble face. You felt them, the sins of your past, like a heavy string binding the two of you together in this cold room. You knew there were feelings you could tug on, emotions that could have you both tumbling to the floor and wishing that the past could be washed away. But there were too many scars, too many faults that bound you together, wounds that time could not heal.

And you knew your time was running thin.

Selfishness reared its ugly head. You wanted to live, you _needed_ to get back to Paradis, back into the arms of the people you loved. You didn’t want to die because of your stubbornness, or out of some forged loyalty that you knew friends would even give up if it meant being together one last time.

“We know about the arms trading,” you conceded, head hanging low.

You heard his chair scrape against the floor as he sat to attention.

“How?”

You thought about all the carefully considered words that you’d played in your mind earlier. You couldn’t give too much, but you had to lay enough on the table to make yourself valuable, to perhaps make yourself trustworthy. You needed to sprinkle lies into the truth, give a little in hopes of taking a lot.

“Not everyone knows. It has been an investigative project I’ve been working on with Erwin and Miche…” you sucked in a deep breath, eyes closing, “we only figured it out because it came up as we were inquiring into the legitimacy of the President of Paradis. We’re pretty sure he’s a pawn, that there’s some untouchable group of aristocrats pulling his strings and ruling the nation from the shadows.”

You waited patiently to see if he had any remarks, but the brooding man before you stayed silent. You could feel the weight of his gaze, scrutinizing, curious, perhaps disappointed that you’d be willing to give away secrets so easily.

“That’s what you can give to Yeager. Tell him that…tell him that I’m tired of working and killing for a government that I can’t trust, whose true intentions I don’t know. Tell him I’m willing to work with him.”

“And why would he be interested in that? You’re much more valuable as an information source than an agent.”

You finally lifted your face to him then, a bold trepidation creeping over your skin.

It was now or never.

“Reiner, what I have to say next is something I’ve saved only for you. You can do with it what you will, but I beg of you, be careful with it. This could hurt you as much as it could hurt me in the long run.”

Part of you expected him to leave again, to bristle at the thought of hearing something he doesn’t want to know.

But he stayed, brows wrinkling together as he studied you before him. You felt like a beggar at his feet, spreading out all you carried in hopes that it was enough to appease the executioner before you.

“Tell me,” he demanded, “though I make no promises to keep it silent.”

You felt your courage implode. You almost wanted to gobble up your information and let it rest inside you forever to be gnawed at by your conscience.

But if there were any fragments left of the man you once knew, of the Reiner Braun who had once held you so dearly, you knew that he would latch on to your words.

“Zeke—your war chief—is working with Paradis. He’s plotting something so devious that even Erwin can’t pinpoint what it is, but we are certain he has contacts within the government that go beyond securing weapons for Marley.”

You took a moment to pause, to let what you were saying sink into that thick skull of his.

“Reiner, something seriously fucked up is going to happen if we don’t figure out what’s happening. And what’s happening is bigger than us—it’s bigger than all the shit we’ve been through. Help me, or it will be more than just me dying.”

You surveyed him as he straightened his broad shoulders, rolling them like a predator who was examining his prey. You’d just offered your life to him, held it out on willing hands with perhaps irresponsible words.

You held in a sob as he left wordlessly, leaving his empty chair behind.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Reiner sat with his arms crossed, trying to keep his face neutral as he watched Bertie haphazardly stretch his long arms across the board to erase of their previous work, writings of _threaten Erwin_ , _reveal the past of Paradis_ , and _remove the bucket so she can’t piss_ all being wiped away from thought. He wondered, for a moment, if his friends were idiots, or just wasting time because they knew he’d wander back into her orbit sooner or later.

He’d come straight to them, of course, straight to his trusted comrades and announced he’d managed to pry your lips open.

_Sans torture_ , he had stressed to Galliard. 

But he had sat on the real information you gave him, letting your confessions about Zeke fester in his mind.

Part of him wanted to believe you; he’d always been wary of his superior officer, always knew that his cunning and depravity could lead them all down a path of no return one day. But another part of him thought you were toying with him, trying to manipulate his doubts and sow seeds of skepticism into his mind. You’d always been so capable of getting whatever you wanted, always had a charm for subtle exploitation.

“How can we believe any of this?” Annie berated, lighting a cigarette in the room despite knowing it was against Zeke’s rules.

“Because we know she’s close to Erwin, close to the brass that runs the Scout Police Force,” Reiner countered.

“More like she has always been up his ass, probably in his fucking bed too.”

Reiner didn’t like the image that flashed in his mind, didn’t like the thoughts of the Commander running his hands across your skin, of you tangled in his sheets. He chided himself, worried it was a jolt of jealousy, but at this point, he could never distinguish his emotions anymore.

“Annie,” Zeke hushed her, finally taking a seat at the rounded table instead of pacing a hole into the floor, “everything she has said adds up. I’ve kept our arms trading as quiet as I can, but if those little rats were going around interrogating congressmen, then it’s very possible one of them squealed on our operations just to keep their puppet president in power.”

“So, it’s true then?” Bertholdt chimed in, shaking a marker within his aching fingers as he paused from taking notes, “that the government of Paradis is basically a sham.”

“I’m afraid so.”

_And how do you know that?_ Reiner wanted to question, wanted to prod at the smug man who was waving cigarette smoke from his face.

“So, what are we going to do with her?” Reiner finally addressed the elephant in the room, pulling at the last remaining thread to this horrible game they had gotten themselves into.

“We’ll keep using her, of course. Though I don’t think she will give anything else up so freely. We need to give her some hope that we trust her, that she’s going to live through this little nightmarish web we’ve caught her in.”

Reiner didn’t like the tone in Zeke’s voice. He seemed too relaxed, too humored by it all.

It was at this time that Pieck wandered into the room, carefully balancing a crutch underneath her arm. She was carrying that soft smile of hers, leaning against the wall momentarily before also settling at the table.

“A little birdy told me what all is going on,” she turned her grin to Galliard, whose chest puffed at his recognition, “Sorry I couldn’t make the last mission, Chief, the old leg just couldn’t handle it. But, I do have a suggestion to your little, hm, captive issue here.”

The room felt tense, everyone focusing on the small woman as her prim cheerfulness refused to fade.

“Let her free, under supervision, of course. Turn our old reconnaissance mission on its head; watch an outsider from inside our group, see if we can get her comfortable enough to open up again.”

“Yes, exactly, Pieck!” Zeke let out a hearty laugh as he smacked the table with an open palm, wicked delight brightening over his features. He ran his fingers through his blonde ponytail, like he was settling into relief.

Reiner felt his heart sink into his stomach, acid tearing at its flesh.

“And it seems we have just the man for the job, seeing that he _magically_ got the little vexation to open her mouth.”

_“No.”_

Reiner gritted his teeth, jaw flexing at the thought of being your god damn babysitter.

_“Oh yes,”_ Zeke fished around in his pocket then, pulling out a set of keys and sliding them across the table. Reiner didn’t move, just let the clinking metal fall into lap and sink into his thigh.

“Go let her out of her cage, let her know we’ve agreed to take up her offer of help, but only if she follows orders and stays in your sight.”

“Don’t you think a woman is more suited to this?” Annie chirped, carelessly smothering her cigarette out directly onto the table, hot ash settling into the grooves of oak.

“You already passed on this task, sweetheart. Besides, it seems she might find Braun a little more tolerable after all.”

━━━─── • ───━━━

And all this, all these words, all this fucking time passed, led to Reiner standing before you once again. His head rested against the rusted iron; grip so tight around the metal bars he worried he might actually bend them.

He’d relayed the messages, but ensured you that this fucking Zeke business had stayed behind tight lips.

When he opened his eyes, his vision focused on you, still sitting, an almost dumbfounded look on your tilted, tired head.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, a sincerity he wasn’t used to pooling in his ears, dripping down his skin.

“Don’t thank me yet. There are still long nights ahead of you.”

_Ahead of him_ , he recognized.

All he wanted was for you to disappear, to be washed away, but it seemed you were about to become a permanent stain on his life—a living, breathing body to remind him of the past he had left in the dark depths of his mind to rot.

_Be sure your sins will find you out_ , he mused, looking at a sin that might be too tempting not to partake of.


	3. Silence

Reiner didn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. His knuckles were turning white against the sink, hands ready to crack the porcelain as he realized that he hadn’t been able to identify himself in a reflection for a long, long time.

He felt like his mind was screaming in silence. How long had it been since his thoughts were quiet?

“Your hair has gotten long,” you mused from behind him, voice bouncing off the cold tiles of the bathroom. There wasn’t a hint of amusement in your tone, no sing-song lilt against the edge of your tongue. No, it was just a simple observation, a quiet reminder of how much he’d changed over the last four years.

He finished scrubbing at his face, scowling behind his hands. He didn’t like having you in his space, didn’t like having your presence pressing at the borders of his composure.

It had been ensured to him that this _babysitting_ wouldn’t last long, just enough to get you comfortable before they tossed you to someone else for observation.

But it had already been three days, three days of you sitting in his room in the compound, sleeping on his pillows. Three days of him not being able to go to his own fucking apartment, three days of him clenching his fists and being filled with an ominous sense of dread. He almost wished he’d never let you out, that he had kept you locked away in the back of his brain where you belonged. There were rules for you to follow, simple ones to keep you out of trouble, but every edict entailed that you always be within supervision. Specifically, _his._

He turned away from the sink, eyeing you with a hint of disdain. You were leaning against the door frame, towel slung over your right shoulder, hands in the pockets of your—of Annie’s—sweatpants. It was strange for him to see you in her clothes. In his memories, you were always in your gear, black leather and that white breast plate emblazoned with the wings of freedom, or in those sinful outfits you’d wear after a long day of work when you planned to go downtown and forget the horrors of the job for a while. Now you were in someone else’s skin, in Marleyan-style tanks and sweats. He felt like his brain was short-circuiting, cutting between images of you from the past and where you were now.

“Are you done? I could use a shower.”

He shook his head, fingers rubbing at one of his temples, “Yeah, all yours. Just don’t leave your fucking hair everywhere again.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing across your chest as you waited for him to move.

“Sure, whatever. Just leave.”

Most of your conversations had been like this. Curt, tense, just the two of you moving from one space to another and trying not to collide. But something was pulling at Reiner’s gut, urging him to want to speak. It felt like a memory bubbling back to the surface, those echoes in his mind unable to be silenced.

He caught a glimpse of a faded scar on your shoulder, distinctly circular, almost concave.

Before he could stop himself, he was reaching out to you, hand outstretched and ready to brush against marred skin. His heart dropped as you pulled your shoulder away from him, jerking it back out of his reach. A confused, disgusted look washed over your face as you glanced between his face and the hand that aimed to touch you.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah, it’s where I was shot.”

Your own hand came up to cup your shoulder, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the scar.

“I-I’m sorry,” he choked, unable to stop his mind from seeing trails of blood seeping through your fingers, crimson specters bleeding down your body.

“For what? No one could’ve stopped it, I was alone. I’m just lucky the military police were close enough to hear the gunshot and get me to the hospital.”

His stomach was twisting again, making him nauseous.

So that’s what you had been told. You didn’t…you didn’t remember anything about what happened. God, how many secrets did he have to keep? The web of lies he had to spin, the threads he had to hang on to, it still felt like they were growing, like he’d ensnared himself into the lying vines as well.

“Does it…does it hurt?”

He watched how your eyes softened, glancing away to trace at nothing in particular.

“No, not much anymore. I still have nightmares about it, though. I always dream that I die, that they don’t actually carry me to the hospital but to the graveyard, or that I bleed out there in the alleyway.”

You paused, blinking and pressing your lips together like you were reevaluating your words. He hadn’t heard you speak this much since you were behind bars.

“But why do you care, anyways?” You said quickly, syllables rushed.

He took in a deep breath, crossing his arms just to keep his hands from trying to wander away and try to touch you again.

“Believe it or not, I was worried about you that night.”

You scoffed, the slightest of smiles pulling at the edge of your mouth, “I remember being told you and Bertie were the first ones to get to the hospital. You even beat Levi and Erwin somehow.”

 _Somehow_.

Despite the kindness in your words, the conversation left his mood even more sour. He bumped past you as he left the small room behind.

“Take your shower. And, maybe this time, consider _not_ getting into the bed wet.”

He half-expected you to twist his words, to pull out the innuendo and laugh. But those days were gone, there was no more congeniality between you. Reiner felt like going back and letting that sink and mirror crack under his fists.

His two worlds splintering together was the very last thing he wanted. He was someone else when he was in Paradis, someone ready to bear the burdens of others and be selfless for his friends and for his country. But here, back home, he was selfish, someone who could barely stand the weight of his own world on his shoulders, let alone for anyone else.

Reiner used to be such a good soldier, though he was certain he had never been a good man.

He locked the door behind him as he left his room, wondering if it was more of an instinct to keep you in, or keep others out and away from you.

Each Marleyan Warrior had a spare room at headquarters for when it came time for training or planning movements within the wars they had been fighting. It was late, the winter sun having set hours ago, and no one else would be around. Except Pieck, she had a tendency to stray a little too long in the archives, and he was hoping to find her there.

━━━─── • ───━━━

You wanted to bang your head into the shower wall, wanted to dissipate under the heat of the water and melt away into the drain.

You’d done a fair enough job not speaking to him over the past few days. You were waiting on him to break the ice—you wanted to know his thoughts on your intel about Zeke, you needed to know if he believed you, or if he was simply prepping the little lamb for slaughter.

You ran your hands down your face under the scorching water, the streams threading through your fingers and dribbling down your tired body. You could barely sleep at night, your ears hyper-tuned to the sounds of the Marleyan headquarters, of feet shuffling outside your door, of the heaving breathing of Reiner just feet away on a separate pillow.

The protests you had about this situation had fallen on deaf ears. You swore up and down that you weren’t going to run away, that you would behave if left alone in a spare room with the door locked to keep you inside. But _rules were rules_ , Zeke had tutted, reminding you of the things you needed to do in order to be trusted: stay in a warrior’s sight, follow any order given, and don’t kill yourself or try to escape.

Yeager’s voice was still in your head, all saccharine sarcasm that made you bite your tongue. You had been quite exceptional at following the rules, though you were perhaps too keen on keeping to yourself. Some part of you was hoping that eventually they would just ask you what they wanted to know so you didn’t accidentally give them a government secret that they weren’t aware of. Not that the Scouts ever had too many secrets beyond protection and assassination plans.

But silence was proving to be more cumbersome than you expected. There were years of history between the two of you that wouldn’t be washed away by treachery or too-hot showers. You’d _wanted_ to talk about what happened the night you were ambushed on an intel mission, you’d _wanted_ to ask him why he even came to see you. He was working undercover for Marley then, so why would he even care if you’d lived or died that night?

Why did you care what he thought?

Oh, you knew why you cared, you just didn’t want to fucking _admit it_. Not even to yourself, not even as your fingers ached to run down the sinews of his back as he slept.

You scrubbed at your skin, nose wrinkling at the scent of Reiner’s soap. Generic, aloe scented, man-musk smelling soap. At least it wasn’t two-in-one bullshit. Maybe you’d give over a little information in hopes of Annie lending you something that smells better next time with her clothes.

A stray thought crossed your mind as your hands trailed over your body, soap lather making your fingertips glide across places that hadn’t been touched in a while.

You closed your eyes, slowly turning the thundering sound of the shower into a new atmosphere as you rinsed off. In the darkness, you could be somewhere else, you could be back home, be out in the city with Hange and Miche in one those clubs you swore you hated because it was too loud. You could almost make a song out of the water beating against the tiles.

Pink and violet flashed behind your eyelids, strobe lights, crowded rooms, hands on your waist that were bigger than your own. Pulling your thighs, kissing your neck, cupping your breasts, rapacious and hungry and sinful.

You bit back a moan as your fingers followed the motions, swept over your figure and dipped between your legs. You even felt drunk again for a moment, could taste a cocktail on your tongue as your lips fell open.

The shower wall even felt like a body behind you, strong and sturdy, a broad chest to fall back into as fingers got hastier and greedier.

Whose hands were you thinking of?

━━━─── • ───━━━

“Where’s your shadow?”

Reiner found Pieck right where he expected, pretty head nestled between two books on a table, legs outstretched on a chair. She seemed tired, fingers lazily brushing through historical tomes that no one else had probably touched in centuries.

“She’s in the one place I can’t follow,” he sighed, pulling out a chair and joining her in the silence of the library.

“Ah, and I bet she stays in the shower a long time, doesn’t she? Only place safe from wandering eyes.”

“My eyes don’t—”

“Yes, they do,” she chided, soft eyes flickering between him and the pages, “and so do others. Porco and Zeke are chomping at the bit to tear into her, you know. They really want to make her talk and spill all her dirty secrets. They even tried to get Bertholdt to guess the password to the phone we found in her pocket.”

“But she doesn’t,” he groaned, hanging his head in his hands, “she doesn’t _talk_. Or at least she won’t until I start telling her things that she shouldn’t know.”

Pieck pursed her lips, mind churning. Reiner didn’t mean to come to her with his problems, if anything he wanted a moment away from you, away from talking about you, thinking about you, almost fucking _touching_ you.

But, of course, conversation would revolve around you. He’d been relatively tight-lipped about it all anyways, only revealing to his superiors that you spent most of your time sleeping or following him to get food. He was still stewing on your earlier revelations of Zeke’s possible engagement with an enemy government, still trying to comprehend that a living, breathing ghost was haunting his room.

“Reiner, you realize that you want her to admit things that _you_ shouldn’t know either, right?”

He drummed his fingers on his head, teeth gritting in his jaw.

“What are you suggesting?”

“What I’m suggesting is that you start talking about the things she wants to know. She claims she wants to help us, so she’s going to learn things eventually. Give a little to get a little.”

“No.”

Pieck straightened her back then, raising her arms above her head in a stretch as she yawned.

“You always have been so thick-skulled. It might be painful for you to reveal some of your past, but think of it like a band-aid. Rip it off and hope that maybe she’ll stop the bleeding.”

He wanted to smash his head in with those books, break his fingers, remove his tongue, anything to get rid of his conflicting thoughts and throw himself out of this situation. He knew he could easily pass you off to another warrior soon, say _give her a try_ and fling you into greedy arms. But there was something inside of him battling to keep you safe, to keep you away from idiots who wanted to torture you. He wanted you dead, wanted you gone, but in the same vein he wanted you alive, wanted you shielded away from the mess that had been created.

“Why did it have to be her?”

He didn’t realize he said the words out loud. He thought it was a whisper, a cry in his mind. But Pieck caught the sound.

“Is there something about her that makes her worse than the others? Worse than if we had captured one of the Ackermans?”

_Yes._

“No,” he shook his head, moving to stand and run away, like he always did, “no it’s just she’s…difficult.”

He was leaving, footsteps heavy and hurried, but then he heard Pieck clear her throat, heard her books thumping and chair scraping behind him.

“Just tell her the truth.”

“What truth?” He called over his shoulder.

“About why you went to Paradis. But not just that, the real truth, too. The one we all know burdens you: that you fell in love with those people and couldn’t stand to hurt them.”

Reiner knew you would swallow that pill about as poorly as he did.

━━━─── • ───━━━

You spent a good amount of time toweling your hair, doing your best to not be _wet_ and anger the animal whose habitat you’d fallen into. This might not be his home, but everything about this room screamed _Reiner_ and it made you want to close your eyes and wish you were somewhere else again.

The whole damn place smelled like him, had his designer boots by the door, had a calendar with his handwriting smattered all over it. You’d peeked at that once and found the only valuable information being that Annie’s birthday was March 22; she never wanted anyone to celebrate it back home. But she was an Aries, at least that made fucking sense.

You clambered into the bed, all heavy limbs and breathy sighs, wondering for some reason what Reiner’s actual apartment looked like. In the city of Trost, he’d been roommates with Bertie, an old place full of music posters and all the plants Bertie could ever dream of doting over: ivy, peace lilies, and lady palms that somehow grew without much light against brick walls.

You were about to fall asleep as you tried to recount all the names those dead plants once had.

You honestly hadn’t even thought about where Reiner had gone off to until he returned. You could hear his knuckles cracking in the dark, felt the mattress dip as he sat and took off his shirt. Your body was faced away from him, eyes focused on the snow fluttering past thick curtains.

“If I had it my way, I never would have left Paradis.”

He said the words. Not you.

“What?”

“Everyone here knows it too,” he was settling into the pillows, forearm cast over his eyes like he was almost ashamed to look at you, “I fell in love it, with the people there. I was so shit at getting intel back to the point that they almost pulled me out from undercover to send someone else.”

Was he…was he being serious? You’d turned to look at him now, clutching the sheets to your chest.

“But you still betrayed us.”

“Like I had a fucking choice. My _job_ was to figure out how to dismantle your branch from the inside out, Annie and Bertholdt were supposed to be gathering intel on the president and finding channels for the arms dealing. They were…more successful than I was.”

You laid there for a moment, feeling like a ship sinking into the bed. You’d figured as much was true, but it was a little more surreal than you expected to hear it all from his mouth.

“Is that why Yeager came? Because you hadn’t relayed enough information and Marley took matters into their own hands?”

You could see that day playing out on the ceiling, like a muted movie flashing above you in the dark. Hange had gotten a call that her lab had been destroyed in Shiganshina, so the team readied themselves to travel there, only to be met with artillery and warriors they didn’t expect. Zeke Yeager had been waiting, a beast of a man ready to pounce and destroy your comrades, and he was mostly successful. In the midst of the chaos, the Scouts had lost just about everyone. Fuck, even Erwin lost his arm while trying to fight Annie.

And you’d almost killed Reiner; you would have sliced into his throat if the orders weren’t given to retreat and count your losses.

Though, when you think back on it, you wonder if you actually would have, or if there were feelings preventing you from taking that final plunge. He’d been your comrade, even _more_ , for five years.

War wasn’t something you were expecting that day. Especially not one that had brother turning against brother, one that led to an uneasy balance between your bordering countries.

“Yeah, it was my fault.”

You felt his weight shift again, his massive frame lying closer to yours.

“Of course it was. You have always been a shitty soldier.”

Reiner’s hand brushed against your shoulder, warm, tentative fingers smoothing over your skin.

You didn’t flinch away, a little too caught up in your thoughts to care.

A knuckle brushed over your scar. You could almost feel the remorse simmering under your composure, could almost taste it in the back of your mouth.

You could tell it was a meager plea for forgiveness, a small olive branch being presented for you to take or destroy.

And you took it. You allowed him to sink a little closer, to reach out and touch you so gently that it felt like he was worried you’d shatter under his fingers. You’d almost forgotten how large they were, how he could ease the tension in your muscles just from one squeeze of that giant palm against your skin.

It was comforting, really. To feel his touch again. Because in the back of your mind, you knew you missed it; you knew those were the hands you were thinking about when no one was watching.


	4. Intimate Vexations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up directly after chapter three, but takes places partially within one of Reiner’s memories. The sections entirely in italics are a flashback. Also, this chapter includes some ~wandering hands~ and smutty thoughts. 
> 
> Also this is where the warning for character death comes into play, as there is murder and violence in this chapter.
> 
> I wanted to give a quick thank you to everyone who has been reading and encouraging me to write this story. I have a lot more planned and I can't wait to see what you all think of this chapter!

Reiner, unsurprisingly, couldn’t sleep.

You, on the other hand, were finally swept away into the throes of slumber. He knew you hadn’t been sleeping well, your body too strung out with anxiety and adrenaline to actually get any kind of rest over the past few nights. He’d felt the sheets twisting on a few occasions, heard you sighing with frustration behind him.

Every night up until now, he’d purposefully slept facing away from you. The bed was big enough to where he could imagine that you weren’t there, or even pretend that you were someone else. But now he crossed the barrier he put up for himself, actually had one of your legs tangled between his own. His palm was still on your shoulder, large fingers spreading out toward your chest; your heartbeat and the delicate swelling of your lungs like a seraphic lullaby.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt petrified, like touching you had turned him into stone and rendered him helpless in his own bed.

This—getting closer to you—this was a bad idea. Reiner knew that absolutely nothing fruitful could come from letting his emotions get in the way of his purpose again. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move away. He couldn’t stop looking at you and memorizing the planes of your face and the lines of your body, almost like he was terrified you would sink into the mattress and vanish if he closed his eyes for too long.

What the fuck was he going to do with you?

Part of him desperately wanted to cling to you, to pull you in close and whisper promises against your skin. He would keep you safe, hide you away in his arms where the world couldn’t hurt you. But he was struck with the unfortunate realization that he was perhaps the most damaging force in your life. You were here because of him; you had been wounded, spoiled, forced to carry burdens and fend for your life, all because of actions he set into motion.

Albeit he’d been on the receiving end of your destruction and ruination all the same.

There were still memories about you that haunted him. Some had grown old, dying away in the back of his mind like ivy against sun-bleached brick. But others were fresh, so vivid that he could still see them behind his eyes even as he laid there with you.

━━━─── • ───━━━

_“Are you paying attention?”_

_He was, just to the wrong things._

_Reiner was supposed to be listening to you go over everyone’s placements for the evening, was supposed to be following along as you explained who all the important people were in the ballroom. Aristocrats, congressmen, businessmen with fat pockets all in need of protection due to security threats from Marley. Threats he knew to be true and found himself on edge because of._

_But how the fuck was he supposed to concentrate when every time he looked at you, he struggled to pull his eyes away from your curves, from the dress that hugged your figure so perfectly it was practically sacrilege._

_Two years of working with you and he’d never seen so much of your skin before; not that he hadn’t imagined what you looked like naked—he knew everyone looked at you and fantasized, but now you were tangible, sinful, and his hand was on your lower back before either of you could stop him._

_“Sorry, I’m easily distracted,” he cleared his throat, other hand pulling at his bow tie._

_He watched how your eyes narrowed at him, a scowl threatening to reveal itself had you not kissed the rim of your champagne flute._

_You were scrolling through your phone with one hand, drinking from the other, an alluring image of nonchalance that simultaneously earned every attention but kept you from standing out. You looked like you belonged in a fashion magazine, or draped and painted in oil to be admired on a wall._

_It was a simple task. Members of The Scout Police Force were scattered around the Governor’s Ball, most undercover and hiding within the crowds just in case anything was to erupt and ruin the evening for the_ _bourgeoisie and the capitalist pigs who owned most of the wealth of Paradis. Being here reminded him of his purpose: he was to aid in taking down this corrupt country, in exterminating the devils that haunted the border of Marley._

_But being here also reminded him of how wrong most of his perceptions had been about this nation. All the childhood ghost stories and lessons taught by his mother, his teachers, his higher officers in the military, were just that: hearsay, fables, bedtime propaganda. Everyone in this room was beautiful, sophisticated, normal people with their own agendas and perceptions. This land was corrupt, but so was his home._

_You were one of the things that tore at his misconceptions. Sure, the two of you didn’t quite get along, always butting heads and purposely pushing at each other’s pride, but you were strong, loyal, so ready to kill and die for your country, for your friends, that he felt like he was looking into a mirror sometimes._

_He noticed how you leaned against the railing, gaze vigilant as you surveyed the crowds below. His fingers flexed against your lower back, the revealing dress allowing him to feel your heated skin against his fingertips._

_“There’s Armin and Jean,” you nudged him, pulling his attention down to the two men who were entering the room with trays of hors d’oeuvres and spirits._

_Reiner was very grateful he hadn’t been assigned to servant duty again. It was probably because last time they had an operation like this, he’d smashed a bottle into the face of a waiter who mistreated poor, nervous Historia._

_Now he was on blending-in duty, able to just stand back and people-watch this time. He was paired with you, the two of you tasked to make sure the other didn’t get into trouble._

_Last time you had been on one of these assignments, you’d apparently gone home with a Senator and broken all kinds of protocols, which sent Erwin into an absolute fit concerning professionalism._

_Reiner wondered what kind of panic he could send the Commander into if he acted on his desires and fucked you against the wall. It would be easy, just put his hands under the slit in your dress and crush his mouth against yours to keep you quiet._

_“Something feels off,” you muttered to him, finishing the champagne in your glass and setting it away on a table, “I’m going to go look around.”_

_“I’ll come with you.”_

_“You really don’t have to.”_

_You said it like you **really** didn’t want him to._

_It was at that time that you plucked his hand off your body, staring at him with a frown as you dropped his wrist._

_“Don’t follow me.”_

_And he didn’t, not at first, just crossed his arms and watched how heads practically rolled as you walked through the crowds on the balcony._

_But he wasn’t about to let you out of his sight for long. He knew that a small Marleyan unit would be approaching and making preparations to slip into the estate and retrieve a few classified documents, while everyone else enjoyed all the lavish fuss. Annie was in charge of letting them in, while Reiner and Bertholdt were delegated to keeping their eyes on all the soldiers._

_It was a simple task. Reiner didn’t expect there to be any mess, that was until he followed you._

━━━─── • ───━━━

You shifted in your sleep, turning on your side. His hand on your shoulder smoothed down your arm as you moved, your warm back pressing to his chest. He heard you hum, a simple, soft sigh against the sheets, the kind you’d make when you were pleased, like you had slipped into that little space of heavenly contentment.

He wished he had taken a picture of you that night. Even a memory so vivid had its faded spots, and sometimes thinking of you was more like a blurry image in his mind.

But now you were a reminiscence come to life, corporeal and breathing in his arms. One of your thighs was still pressed between his own, all sweet and tempting flesh resting in wait. His hesitant fingers kept traveling down, over your waist, finding the curve of your hip in front of his stomach.

Your skin was rich and velvety smooth, a sin to touch and admire. God he should’ve moved away a long time ago, but now he felt too compelled to touch you.

For a moment, he felt like he had power over you, like touching you and feeling the borders of your body made you more tangible. He was a man who couldn’t control his memories, couldn’t control how his mind screamed, burned, ached. But he could restrain your body—he could pin you down in reality since he couldn’t in his thoughts.

Fuck, that was an image he’d considered far too often: you, bound under his body, held in place by too-rough hands and crushed beneath his brawn. Even when he dreamt about it, he was too ashamed to look into your eyes, often imagining you face down with his hand around the front of your throat. And you’d be begging—god you were the only person he wanted to hear say his name, and he wanted it to fall out of your mouth in reverence and whimpers.

Reiner became a little more bold, palm flat and smoothing over your belly, back over the arch of your hip, even around to the small of your back, fingers caught between the boundaries of your bodies.

He wondered if he would ever get this opportunity again.

Your lives could change at any moment; someone could choose to rip the two of you apart, to place you under someone else’s watch, to even take you away from this world. You were both lost in a sea of orders and authority, two stones who happened to bump against one another in the raging currents of this life.

But these little moments, these little intimate vexations, these were something he could find purpose in. He knew it would take efforts, frustrations, patience, but he decided then that he wanted more of this—he was touch starved, and you were a tempting remedy.

━━━─── • ───━━━

_He heard the skirmish before he saw it. Grunts and glass smashing, what sounded like a body thudding into the floor, boots scraping, threads ripping, shrill metal clattering against hardwood._

_It was in a room on one of the upper-floors, a study that was supposed to be guarded by Military Police. Why would you go up there? What had tipped you off? He was already rolling his sleeves up his forearms, preparing for whatever battle he would find when he rounded the doorway._

_“Reiner!”_

_Both voices said it in unison._

_The sound shocked both you and the man you had pinned into the floor, one of his hands crushed under your knee, the other flailing to grasp a dagger that was just out of reach. There was a stack of papers that had been flung across the floor, forlorn and messy._

_Reiner felt his tongue go heavy in his mouth._

_Marcel Galliard was looking up at him, hazel eyes and heavy brow pleading for help. Marcel, who always wore a smile and was fiercely dedicated to serving the nation. Marcel, who was the big brother to Porco, who got too drunk at the kid’s birthday parties but always laughed about it the next day. Marcel, who’d encouraged and mentored Reiner when they were children. Marcel, who grew up by his side and wanted nothing more than to be accepted in their own country. Marcel, who Reiner adored._

_But Reiner couldn’t help him, not here, not while undercover, not when you were struggling to keep yourself alive._

_“Get the folders!” You spoke hurriedly, but before he could even think to help you, he was being tackled out of the doorway, some idiot soldier barreling into him. The guy probably didn’t know who he was, that was in the Warrior Unit just like his boss Marcel, that if he managed to hurt him, there would be hell to pay. Which is why Reiner didn’t feel very guilty when he punched him in the jaw, when he kicked him far too hard in the stomach, then the head, then watched his body go limp in the hallway._

_When he looked back toward you, all his instincts kicked into gear, pouring over him like cold water and stinging his senses. You had the blade in your hands—you had it against Marcel’s throat._

_“No, no, no, no, no,” he kept saying it like it would stop you. He stumbled to where you were, wrapped his arms around you from behind and pulled you away from the mess you were about to make of Marcel._

_He could tell you were shocked, probably not expecting to be in a fight or die situation just from your leisurely patrol. Your hands wound themselves into his shirt, threatening to tear at the buttons from how tightly you clung to him. He took a moment to take a breath, to assess the situation around him. Marcel was panting in the floor, blood in his mouth from where you had punched him, your shoes were not far off, crimson staining one of the heels; it matched a blood stain on Marcel’s side, almost a pinprick of red seeping through the beige uniform._

_Reiner had to make a decision. It was you, or Marcel. It was Paradis, or Marley._

_He quickly pushed you against one of the bookshelves, guarding you from Marcel’s gaze while also keeping your attention away from him._

_“Reiner,” you whispered, looking up at him like you were genuinely afraid, like an animal caught in a deadly trap. He put his hand around your neck, squeezing just enough to keep you quiet, but carefully brushing his thumb over your pulse. He needed you to feel safe, secure._

_He heard Marcel shuffling behind him on the floor, all heavy breathing and quick limbs as he scrambled to get to his feet._

_“I’d kill someone for you, I hope you know that.”_

_“Prove it,” you choked out, a fire blazing in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. You were challenging him, but also begging him. You still had that dagger clutched in your fist, the tip of it pointing up toward his own throat from where it was pressed against his chest._

_Then, like always, Reiner’s thoughts got in the way._

_Everything felt too elephantine, too strained. All it could’ve taken to change the outcome of what happened next was one flick of his wrist, a shove, a push, anything to keep himself away from the man behind him._

_But instead, he let himself go. He didn’t know what else to do. He felt overwhelmed, like the combative voices in his mind he thought he’d silenced were screaming and clawing and biting, weighing him down and cutting off any salient thoughts._

_He took the dagger from your fingers and slid it into Marcel’s gut with just one turn of his body._

_He knew the man wouldn’t expect it, that he assumed Reiner was fending off the ferocious woman that attacked him._

_Reiner died a little inside when he watched the light fade from Marcel’s rather handsome face._

_He let go of the blade when the body collapsed in the floor, a pool of red spilling over the documents in the floor like blood in the snow. Those fucking documents. Marcel had to go and die over some folders full of accounting details for government expenditures._

_No, Marcel hadn’t just died, he’d been murdered, his life’s blood still staining Reiner’s hands like a plague. He hadn’t even realized it until he brought his palm to cover his mouth in horror, only to taste iron against his lips._

_“Reiner,” you were calling him, hands pulling at his arm, trying to pull him away, “Reiner, please, look at me.” You’d led him out into the hallway, momentarily pausing as you noticed the other dead soldier crumpled in the floor. More would be coming, you had to know that._

_He knew you were on to him. You always did have a sixth sense about you; he’d always been certain you’d pegged him for a fraud the moment you laid eyes on him. Now he was nearly in tears over one death, over a death that should’ve seemingly meant nothing—as Scouts, killing was part of the profession, so for him to be so stunned by one Marleyan soldier…_

_You never mentioned it to anyone that the man he killed knew his name._

_━━━─── • ───━━━  
_

A lot of the time, he blamed you for what happened. If you hadn’t stumbled upon the Marleyan troop, none of that would have transpired. If you hadn’t baited him, pushed him, maybe he could have subdued his thoughts. Maybe Marcel would still be alive and Reiner could look at Porco without suppressing lies and guilt.

But he knew who was really to blame, he came to the same conclusion every time the memory flowed through his mind’s eye. It was him. It was him wanting to protect you, to save you, to defend his undercover position, but also to run away and find a new home where he could maybe fix himself. Some part of him wanted to get caught, to be punished, but in the end he only imprisoned himself, continuing to wear away at the threads of his sanity.

No one in Marley knew what he had done. Only you. And for some reason, you’d kept your lips tight, only told your superiors that you and Reiner had stopped the thieves before anything alerted the skittish aristocrats.

He felt heavy, like the metal of a ship bowing and breaking under the tumultuous strain of the ocean. He stopped his wandering, electing to curl an arm around your waist and press his lips to the back of your shoulder. He settled into the pillows, a little lost in the delicious smell of your skin and your hair brushing his cheeks.

You were both keeping your mouths shut for one another. Why?

He could’ve told his comrades about your theories concerning Zeke. You could’ve admitted to Paradis that Reiner knew a Marleyan soldier that he murdered in cold blood.

There was some unspoken bond between the two of you; he had always felt it, sometimes tugged on it too much just to hurt himself. He wasn’t sure why it was there, or what created it in the first place, and he especially wasn’t certain about how it persisted across the years.

Perhaps you were the anchor that kept him in place, the one person who judged him for who he really was.

But he didn’t even know his own identity anymore.

He’d killed Marcel Galliard, just like he had killed Marco Bott. Whose side was he really on?


	5. Against the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a little bit longer than the previous ones, as it is finally filling in some of the gaps; it’s got quite a lot of exposition sprinkled in and some fun interactions with some of my favorite characters (not Zeke, you heathens. Porco.)
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has been leaving such kind comments and supporting me! It means the world to me to see your encouragement filling up my inbox. I try to respond to all I can because it seriously fills my heart with so much joy that people are actually enjoying this story I'm weaving together.
> 
> Also, I swear we're getting steps closer to the smut. I do take a little bit of a sick pleasure making you wait for it, but I am also waiting for it to fucking happen as well. But I promise the wait will be worth it.

Thunderous knocking on the door startled you both from slumber; it had you bolting up right and blinking at your surroundings, had Reiner tumbling from the mattress and marching toward the door before you could even recognize the warm ghosts his hands left behind on your skin.

You could barely see who was at the door, Reiner’s broad shoulders and naked back obscuring most of your line of sight. It was quite an attractive image, really, to see him in nothing but tight boxer briefs and sheet lines down his skin. You were losing focus on the situation when your gaze lingered too long on solid, muscular thighs.

You had a vague, somnolent memory of one of your legs being tucked between those thighs.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

There were mischievous eyes shining just above the curve of Reiner’s arm against the doorframe. You recognized the arc of the slender eyebrows and the pushed back undercut. His eyes were dancing between you in the bed and dusting pink on the hulking man’s cheeks before him.

“Galliard,” an exasperated sigh left Reiner’s nose, hand running down his face, “what do you want?” 

“Chief wants to see you. But I could always come back later if you’re _busy_ —” 

“Not busy. Just give me a second to get dressed.”

You were settling back against the pillows, the frantic beating of your heart starting to slow. For a split second you’d thought you were under attack, or that someone was coming to drag you away to the pit of a cell again. But it seemed like before long you could sink back into the sheets and wait for the sun to rise a little higher in the sky.

“Nah not you,” Porco crossed his arms, chest puffing beneath an army green jacket, “he wants to see her.”

And your heart suddenly felt too tight again.

You noticed how Reiner stilled, like every muscle in his body went rigid and taut at the words. But you were already moving, accepting fate because it’s all you could do at this point. Your toes were cold against the floor, all the heat your bodies had made within the sheets practically steaming off your skin against the chill of the room. 

You stretched your arms above your head to brush off the persisting sleepiness. There was intrigue written all over Porco’s face, his eyes bold and perceptive as he traced the lines of your body. You took note of that.

You only had brief interactions with the other warriors, so any time you could get to observe them was beneficial. You hadn’t even seen Annie or Bertie; you were quite certain they were avoiding coming into contact with you.

“I’m guessing he wants to see her _alone?_ ”

Distaste was on Reiner’s tongue. You glanced at him as you shuffled around to get dressed, finding his brows to be heavier than normal, hands clenching and unclenching by his side. But you were still a little too distracted by his bare chest; why did he have become so handsome?

“Yeah, I’ll bring her back though. Unharmed, in case you’re worried,” Porco chuckled, leaning in the empty doorframe as Reiner stood back.

“Why would he be worried?” You chimed in, shimmying into a pair of pants.

Reiner cleared his throat, “Galliard, uh, wanted to rip your fingernails out.” 

_“_ … _what?_ ”

“I mean, it was just a suggestion since you weren’t being cooperative,” Porco ran a hand through his hair, tapping his boot as he looked out into the hallway to avoid you.

“I’ll remember that.” 

“Please don’t.”

Reiner caught your wrist before you left. The action had all the pairs of eyes in the room looking around, between each other, everyone holding their breath for a moment to see what was going to happen next. You looked up at him, expecting his voice to cut the tension. But only his golden irises spoke to you, a deep concern of _be careful_ etched within them. 

You pulled away slowly, nodding in a silent understanding as you walked out of the little safe haven of a room and into the unknown.

It still felt peculiar, not being in your own clothing. You were a sheep in wolf’s clothing, or was it the other way around? You felt like you’d stepped into a different world; there were strangers in frames on the walls, flags of red and yellow hung from the ceiling, people in tan coats, armbands, and unfriendly faces scurrying by. You’d followed Reiner around enough to get a sense of this place: a large building inside of Liberio, filled with offices, barracks, a cafeteria, gym, and recreational areas for the Warrior Unit of the Marleyan Military. You could see a bustling city just outside the windows, happier smiles milling about within the snow lined streets. 

You’d give anything to burst through the glass and run away, to feel fresh air against your skin and freedom beneath your feet. But you knew one misstep would lead you back to the worst part about this building, which was the rotting cells down the basement.

“The uniform suits you,” Porco nudged you with his elbow.

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Cheeky,” you rolled your eyes, but the urge to smile was still there.

Porco Galliard was quite tall, not as towering as Reiner, but he still loomed over you as you walked by his side. He was the perfect height for that red armband of his to be constantly within your view, crimson and a white sun flashing within your peripheral vision. Subconsciously, you tugged on the white band around your left arm, the slim cloth promptly making you feel as if you were losing circulation, like it was cutting into you. You hadn’t quite gotten the courage to ask what it all meant, but you assumed it had something to do with being _separate_. 

“Also, sorry about earlier.” 

You sighed. You didn’t sign up for small talk.

“About what? Wanting to torture me or disturbing my sleep?”

“I mean, ah,” he laughed, a few deep rumblings from his chest, “both, really. Kinda fucked up that you and Braun have to share a—” 

You held up your hand, waving it to silence him.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You two didn’t get along, did you?”

The pair of you rounded a corner and you caught a glimpse of what you hoped to be the War Chief’s open door at the end of the hallway.

“No,” you said simply, trying to stifle the nosy conversation.

“Doesn’t surprise me, he’s never had the tact to talk to beautiful women.”

“And you do?”

“I’ve got you talking now, don’t I?”

You bit your tongue, to stop yourself from speaking or from grinning you couldn’t tell. You put a bit of pressure behind your teeth, a tiny spark of dread brewing in your stomach as you got closer and closer to the wide-open oak door. A pair of glasses were glinting the sunlight, waiting for you behind a rather messy desk.

But you couldn’t help yourself, Porco was a little too easy to toy with, you could tell; no wonder they didn’t let him come torment you.

“I think your playful mouth could be put to much more _useful_ things than talking to me, Galliard.”

You could hear Zeke huff from where he sat, the sound a bit startled and smothered by a sigh of sheer disappointment. 

Porco left with a jumble of words caught in his throat and a hot blush threatening his cheeks. But he left you alone, standing before the man who had once berated you with questions the first night you’d awoken in this hellish place. 

━━━─── • ───━━━

Zeke let you stand in his doorway for a moment, let you saturate in your anxieties and take in the rays of warm morning sun streaming in from the window behind him. He wasn’t necessarily busy, a cigarette still smoking in the ash tray, papers littered in front of him that appeared to have been previously read and signed by the open ink pen still bleeding into a notepad. 

He was on his phone, one thumb scrolling through whatever had his attention while the other twirled with flaxen strands from his ponytail.

Something inside you was flaring, making your fingers itch to grab than slim bunch of hair or even his beard and slam his face into his desk. Despite being so nonchalant in this moment, you knew he was capable of atrocity, of egging on unnecessary conflict. You’d seen it the day he invaded Paradis.

“Have a seat,” he gestured to the small chair in front of his desk, padded and sunken in from all the unfortunate people who had been in the spot before you.

“Am I here because I’ve broken the rules, _Chief?_ ”

Blue-grey eyes watched you carefully behind their lenses, noticing how you didn’t take his invitation.

“Quite the opposite. You’ve been quiet, kept your head down. But unfortunately, silence isn’t doing much for my superiors right now, so we need to have a little chat.”

“Your superiors? And here I thought you were in charge.”

“I am very much in charge of _you_. So please, sit down, get comfortable.”

You conceded, sliding into the seat in front of you and crossing your legs. Your gaze was narrowed in on him, but you couldn’t help but notice a few stray things in his office: around the room there are several calendars, banners, many embroidered or imprinted with Marleyan sigils. A stark reminder of the territory you were in. But there were also personal things scattered about, a record player in the corner, seated next to a stack of records you assumed to be of very pretentious, snobby music selections, and a few framed photos on the walls, one on his desk that you could barely see from the angle of your seat. It appeared to be of a group of people gathered in a bar booth, though their faces were too far away to be recognized.

Zeke sat forward, placing his phone face up on the desk. It was ready to record, a large red button begging to be touched.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions. Most of them I’ve asked you before, a few have been given to me to ask, so answer honestly.”

“Is this necessary?”

“Unfortunately.”

You took in a deep breath, steeling your nerves. Whatever this was, it could come back to haunt you if you weren’t careful. This could be something being sent straight to the seat of their government, or worse, it could be some blackmail to be sent to Paradis. All of Levi’s training concerning how to hand over information raced through your mind again.

You were going to have to give up some things in order to live. But you knew that Paradis didn’t value your life above their sovereignty. And, if you ever got home, careless words could lead to Erwin permanently renting out your office space to someone else. That thought particularly hurt.

Zeke placed his fingertip on the screen, seconds now running on the recording.

“Please, state your name.”

You did, sitting up a little closer to make sure your voice would be clear.

“And who do you work for?”

“I’m a special agent within The Scout Police Force. Or, rather, I used to be.”

“And what does that branch specialize in?”

“Basically anything the Military Police can’t be bothered with. Assassinations, low-level protection jobs, snooping around the city to make sure the underbelly isn’t threatening to erupt. But we also have a special interest in foreign relations, including undercover networks and border surveillance.” 

That was practically written on the government website, sans the blatant revelation of murder.

“And who do you work under?”

“For a while I was part of Captain Levi Ackerman’s squadron, but recently I was moved into intelligence to work under Miche Zacharias and Erwin Smith.”

Zeke’s face looked quite captivated by that comment, blonde brows shifting higher. You wondered if it was because he knew your work revolved around investigating _his_ actions, around his dealings beyond illegal arms trading.

“And why are you here?”

That question made you pause. 

“Let me be more clear: why have you offered to betray your nation state and work with Marley?” 

The word “betray” left a rather sour taste in your mouth. You were more so trying to _survive_ , trying to live and find a way back home. There were arms waiting to embrace you there, a warm bed with someone you _loved_ , not someone who set you on edge. But you knew that’s not an answer any of those fuckers wanted to hear. 

“Because my recent discoveries in the intelligence office have made me realize that my country is corrupt; I believe helping Marley would be of great benefit to all.”

“I see, and how do you plan to aid Marley?” 

“By doing whatever is asked of me.”

They should use you as an example in interview pamphlets: how to be incredibly vague and hopefully still get the fucking job.

You watched attentively as he ended the recording, making sure the white numbers stopped counting time.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“That doesn’t tell them anything,” you pointed out.

“Precisely,” he stood up then, straightening his crooked tie before walking over to shut the door, “because, to be frank, we don’t quite know what to do with you yet, or if we should trust you. This is just to fact check that you are who you say you are and have it stated plainly that you want to work with us.”

He sat back down, both of you getting a little comfortable in your seats, though you still felt like you were sitting on pins and needles. You could tell he wasn’t quite done with you, that there were his own statements rolling around in his mind. 

Zeke fidgeted with his glasses, pushing them higher up the bridge of his nose.

“To be honest, I think you’re rather useless.”

“That comforting,” you retorted, your patience with him running a little thin.

“It shouldn’t be. You should make yourself useful, else we’ll toss you out and not think twice about it.”

“Alright, then tell me why you were in Paradis. Why were you in that warehouse?”

Your questions took him aback, but had him grinning nonetheless. You weren’t sure what prompted you to be so bold; perhaps it was your own curiosity. You wanted to see how easy it could be to pull things from him.

“So, it’s tit-for-tat?”

“Precisely,” you echoed his own word back.

“Fine, I’ll play.”

You didn’t appreciate the smirk that crept across his lips.

“We were supposed to be meeting someone there,” he began, “and as I’m sure you’re astute enough to figure out, it was to receive a few packages of firearms and ammunition. Paradis isn’t good for much, but I’ll be damned if you don’t make phenomenal weapons. But it seems like they weren’t going to make good on that deal.”

“They weren’t. We got an anonymous tip that there was “criminal activity” brewing there and that we should go make sure nothing was awry. Looking back, I assume it was your buddies chickening out of your deal.”

“So that’s why you seemed so _surprised_ to see us. And here I thought it was an ambush.” 

“Far from it. We would’ve been more prepared for that.”

“Interesting.” He kicked his feet up onto the desk, answering your questions of why his papers were in disarray. 

You took his relaxation as a sign to leave. You stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in your clothes, side-stepping around the chair. 

“One last thing before I have Galliard come back for you.”

You turned around, crossing your arms in defense. You took in one last long look at him, of Zeke Yeager lounged back in his chair, striking a fresh cigarette as the bright beams of sun turned cold with encroaching snow clouds. He looked important, devious, like some low-level god handed more power than he knew what to do with. Hatred was flicking in your chest, ready to burn bright and hot if the coals were poked in the wrong direction. 

“Do you really want to help Marley? Or are you just trying to stay alive?” 

“What do _you_ think?” You hissed. 

“ _I_ think you should be a good little girl and tell Reiner Braun all your dirty little secrets before you get yourself killed. We showed you a bit of mercy by capturing you, don’t throw it away.” 

_Mercy_. You’d call it misery.

But he was right, despite your reluctance to accept it. You were up against a wall, a firing squad loading their guns to aim at you if you didn’t start finding ways to be useful.

━━━─── • ───━━━

“We’re leaving.”

Reiner spoke the words over his shoulder the moment the door shut behind you.

He could see the confusion flash across your face, your lips parting as you noticed the cape in his hands. He’d gone rifling through Pieck’s quarters to get it; he was sure she wouldn’t mind, or perhaps even notice. He stretched his arm out, offering the hooded article to you. It would be easier if no one identified that pretty face of yours out on the streets.

“Leaving?”

“Just for a bit. There’s something I need to go get.”

 _And I need to get you alone_ , he wanted to say, the sentence stuck in his mouth. He needed to go someplace he was certain no ears would be listening, no wandering footsteps lingering in the hallway.

“Am I…allowed to leave?” You said it so timidly, like something had spooked you. Zeke, probably. He’d have to ask about that later.

“You’re my ward, so where I go, you go.” 

“Ward sounds medieval.”

“The world is rather medieval sometimes.”

You both knew that to be true.

He was quite astounded that you didn’t flinch away when he grabbed your hand, locking the room behind him before he burned a path through the headquarters. 

Perhaps the days of you avoiding his touch were over. His mind replayed how you’d so quickly avoided him at first, how you’d kept your shoulder just out of his reach when he’d foolishly attempted to brush against that scar on your skin.

He pulled you out a back door, cursing under his breath when in his haste you’d both nearly tumbled on packed down snow. But he kept up the pace, nearly dragging you behind him through the small crowds that lined the busy shopping district. You fell in line with his stride eventually, eyes darting every which way as you took in your surroundings.

It was a strange realization to him that you’d never actually been in Marley before. It wasn’t much different to Paradis, sans the…internment zones, the thought of which made him a little sick to his stomach. 

“Where are we going?” You were peering up at him, and if he wasn’t in such a hurry, he might’ve lost his breath at the sight of your beauty gazing up to him as fresh snow began to fall.

“My apartment. It’s not far from here.”

You gave a thoughtful hum, hand abandoning his.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious where you lived.”

He chuckled at that, pulling his jacket a little tighter as an icy gust came by. He observed how your hands flew to the hood over your head, keeping it on despite the wind.

“It’s not much, just enough to get away from my mother.”

“She must be a nightmare,” you mumbled it to yourself, but he wasn’t about to correct you. You weren’t necessarily wrong; his mother was just…complicated.

Someone bumped into him and he wrapped his arm around your waist before he caused you to fall into the street. The noon-time rush was getting quite heavy, which was beneficial to the two of you blending in and not getting noticed.

Or so he thought.

He heard the pattering of little feet in the snow, the sound of running hitting his ears before the breeze brought his name.

“Reiner! Reiner!”

He put his hand on your lower back, ushering you to move _just a little fucking faster_.

But it was too late, there were hands around his waist before he could even think to maneuver away. That fear of falling came to actuality, but thankfully he didn’t take you down with him, instead crumbling into the snowy sidewalk with a bundle of brown hair and big smile resting on his chest.

He had to laugh at the absurdity, head tipping back before he attempted to push the young girl off of him.

“Gabi, aren’t you supposed to be in training?”

He was surprised to see your hand reaching down to him, palm upturned and waiting to help him out of this position.

Then the situation settled in and concern and trepidation spread across his consciousness.

Gabi, of all people, did not need to notice them here, did not need to see _who_ he was with.

But she was already opening her big mouth, glossy eyes staring up at you, “Hi! Who are you?” 

You helped him up, even brushing snow off his back as Gabi clambered to her feet, shoving herself between your bodies and poignantly staring up at you. He could tell she was captivated; it was hard not to be. But he knew it was more about how she’d never seen him with anyone outside the Warriors, and perhaps the fact that you were startlingly attractive.

You were looking at him inquisitively, lips pressed together signaling that you weren’t about to say something you weren’t supposed to.

“A friend,” he offered, hoping to satisfy the girl rocking on her heels.

“What _kind_ of friend?”

He ran his hand down his face, so ready to run away and leave her behind without any answers.

“A special one.” 

You did not just fucking say that.

But you did, and there was a too-pleased look on your features as you saw how the small girl took that information like it was the sweetest of treats.

“And who are _you?”_ You teased, hands on your hips as you indulged her for a moment.

You had more patience than he did. He moved to place his hand on your shoulder, ready to tug you down the street before anyone else noticed the three of you.

“Are you telling me he hasn’t told you about his favorite cousin?”

“My _only_ cousin,” he stressed, “listen, Gabi, we’ve got to go, and I need you to do something for me.” 

She was too busy brushing flakes out of her to really listen.

“Gabi,” he snapped his fingers, “don’t tell anyone you saw us, okay?”

“Ohhh okay so this is a _secret date_ , huh?”

He sighed so heavily that it disrupted the snow flurries in the air.

“Yeah,” he was relieved you said it with him, making the lie seem a little stronger.

Your hand was cold in his as he started to pull you away, only to spy more faces down the street that he didn’t want to see. General Magath was weaving away from a food stand, attention still far away. For now. 

“Seriously, Gabi, not a _word_ ,” he tried to sound stern, but his thoughts were already racing about avoiding the next issue, about how he was probably going to have to admit to Zeke that he took you away from headquarters without permission.

Gabi was yelling goodbye as he jerked you around too harshly, putting you in front of him so he could guide you down to a side street. His heart was pounding in his ears, grip tight against your hips. He forcibly pushed you past a few people, mumbling apologies as he tried to get you out of sight. He felt like he smuggling contraband, like you were a precious thing only meant for his eyes to see.

He was almost out of breath when he got you to a safe place, one away from wandering eyes against a back-alley wall. He hadn’t been this stressed about keeping hidden in a while, not since he used to scrounge through Erwin and Hange’s desks late at night back in Paradis.

“That’s going to haunt us, isn’t it?”

Your cheeks were flushed, tendrils of your hair now peeking out from your hood. He absentmindedly brushed a strand away from you face.

“Yeah, girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut even if I paid her.”

He took a moment to look at you there, your shoulders leaned back against the wall, arms wrapped around yourself as you peered up at him like some lost thing waiting for guidance.

But he wished he hadn’t. 

The sight of you had his mind playing tricks on him again. He’d seen you like that before, in a different uniform in a different land, unsuspecting of him looming in the shadows. He could still hear your scream echoing in the back of his mind, could still remember exactly how the blood splattered against brick. You’d been up against the wall then, too, scared and breathless.

He had to rub his palms against his eyes to make the image go away, to ease the frightening flashing of the past. 

“Just another thing to trouble you, hm?”

You said it like you didn’t know the weight of your words. Or perhaps you did, maybe that’s why your hand reached up to touch his face, thumb stroking against his cheekbone.

If he could’ve frozen in time, he would have. He couldn’t remember the last time you—the last time _anyone_ —touched him so softly.

 _He needed to get you alone_ , his mind was racing, but this time for reasons outside of needing to talk to you. He desired more of those intimate moments with you, those vexations that pulled at the strings of his body as if he were a puppet. You were drawing him in deeper, plucking at his heart, tugging at him below the belt.

You were going to be the death of him, like he’d almost been the death to you.


	6. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter reveals a lot, and it’s a little longer than the previous ones, but it’s for good reason- the end of this is one of my favorite things I’ve written.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left comments, left kudos, and just encouraged me to create this story. I have never felt so much love for a fanfic in the time I’ve been writing. I'd be amiss to not especially thank Lady_Luna for keeping me motivated in particular- your comments keep me going!

Reiner’s apartment truly wasn’t much. You thought he’d been joking, perhaps was even being humble, but the small studio apartment was quite dismal. The walls were stark white, a few faded posters peeling off the wall from neglect, a couple of medals and trophies lining a small bookshelf that was bursting with paperbacks and notebooks. A simple bed with a royal blue comforter and overstuffed pillows, the most compact L-shaped couch in front of a tv, and a corner dominated by a desk with two monitors and stacks of documents, manila envelopes, and crates of papers crammed below.

A kitchenet that looked hardly used was tucked away in another corner, the entryway to a small bathroom right near it.

There was truly nothing worth looking twice at, save a handful of framed photos scattered around. 

You’d taken it all in rather hurriedly, still out of breath from practically running through snowy alleyways, the developing snowstorm covering the land like fresh linen. There was a window near his bed, which you gravitated toward after kicking off your damp boots by the door. Not much a view, either. Just more desolate, brick buildings and a sorry looking street below.

He told you once that he didn’t grow up with much, and it unfortunately seemed like despite joining the ranks of the military, he was still left with close to nothing.

“What are we here for?”

He was busy toiling with the thermostat, thick fingers mashing against the heat button to try to warm the small box of an apartment.

“You won’t like it,” he grumbled, golden eyes glancing over to you with a tinge of regret painting his brow.

“Then why bring me?”

“Because you need to see it.”

You tucked your hands under your arms, the chill of the winter’s day finally settling into your bones.

You watched keenly as he shrugged off his snow laden jacket, hanging it by the door before promptly locking it. He seemed as out of breath as you were, nose red from the cold, hands shaking as he fumbled with his phone. You bit the inside of your cheek with impatience, a small flame of ire licking its way into your chest.

Bringing you out here could get you killed. He knew that, right? Of course he did, but he did it anyways. Surely this matter of _seemingly_ great importance could’ve been fetched by one of his comrades. You hadn’t quite considered the danger leaving the headquarters could bring upon you until you were dashing through the streets, the heavy paw of Reiner’s hand squeezing around your wrist. At one point in time, he’d shoved you back down another corridor, shielding you with the size of his body as particular caravan of cars turned down the roadway. He seemed to fear any pair of government eyes spying you.

He always was so careless.

He was busy texting someone, still standing idle, lip worried between his teeth.

Must be the girl you ran into that’s giving him a headache. He probably thought he could slip out and back again without a soul noticing, without anyone giving him grievance, but that bright eyed little cousin of his had ruined that. She’d been so excited to see him; he probably hadn’t been to see his family quite a while, seeing that he was on guard duty after his last mission. 

How many days had it been since you’d been here? You’d honestly lost track of time, your world feeling like it had been caught in a slow turn of molasses. A few seconds could feel like hours, days felt like minutes, every heartbeat felt like it could be your last. You tried to add it all up in your head, eyes closing as you replayed all the events that led to you standing in Reiner Braun’s home in Marley.

A week and a half, you surmised. But it could be a little more, a little less. You think you would have kept your eyes on the sun a little more acutely, seeing that you’d missed it rise and fall for at least two days when you were bound in that cell.

“Are you alright?”

For a moment, you thought you had spoken the words. You were thinking them, but he asked you instead.

“That’s a loaded question,” you looked back down to the street, catching the sight of a line of what appeared to be school children marching in tandem down the sidewalk, snow in their hair and happiness on their faces, “but for the moment, I’m okay.”

Reiner pulled his lips to the side, considering your words. Maybe it hadn’t dawned on him that you couldn’t have been in any state of ease since you’d been promptly abducted and plopped down in this new world to navigate.

“Are _you_ alright?” You encored, observing how his worried thumbs were still fast against the screen.

“Have I ever been?”

You made at face at that reply, corners of your mouth turning down while your shoulders shrugged. _Fair enough_. 

Though, for the first time, a bit of pity crept into your mind. Reiner didn’t really ask for this life, did he? He was doing whatever he could to get by, fallen rather inelegantly into the position of being sent to Paradis, and was now being handed you to watch over, presumably without his full consent. You were both pawns in this world, kings and rooks dominating the board and playing you both for fools.

Being a Scout hadn’t been your intention, either. You’d once had other dreams: college, a career, a family, but you’d been grandfathered into the role by your government working parents, and cemented into it when they’d died. You had nothing else to do, so you served. You served your country, your friends, but you also served yourself, using the role to keep your life afloat, even if it sometimes meant spilling the lifeblood of others, even if it meant sacrificing aspirations and settling. Though, you would admit that some rather beautiful things managed to bloom from the barren soil. Regrettably, those had all been left behind, washed away by tides you couldn’t control.

“I’m sorry,” Reiner grunted, sinking into the cushions of the couch, “she—she already opened her mouth. I’ve gotten Annie to settle things at HQ, but I imagine Chief is still furious.”

“Is it such a bad thing to take me out here? I mean, you could easily stop me if I tried to run away.” 

“Could I?”

You debated his question. While you were quite nimble, you’d be like a rat in a maze trying to find a way out of this god forsaken place.

“If I let you,” you reasoned, a tinge of humor behind your words.

He smiled, all warm and soft, full lips parting. The realization that you hadn’t seen him smile in _years_ pummeled into your chest like a heavy hand stealing from your lungs. It made the sorrow that much more palpable.

“For the record, Zeke is more upset I didn’t ask permission. He’s hellbent on his authority.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

You also pinpointed something else of note, a picture glinting on his nightstand catching your attention.

It resembled the same one you’d seen on Zeke’s desk, only now you could make out the faces. Reiner didn’t pay you any mind as you reached for the framed memory, plucking it from its home, dust from the back of it staining your fingers. 

A red booth housed five familiar faces, all grinning over half-drank pints of beer. Their arms were interlocked around each other’s shoulders, all the men young and handsome, Reiner and Bertholdt even more youthful than when they’d first walked through the doors of the Scout Office. Then there was Zeke seated next to Porco, the latter in that green jacket you’d seen him in earlier. But your eyes were set on a face you’d never thought you’d see again, a face that possessed the very recesses of your mind, only appearing late at night when you’d see it in corners, catch it lingering behind your eyelids. He was attractive, appeared personable, messy dark hair and distinct brow that matched the boy next to him.

“Reiner…” you whispered, still unmoving from your spot between the bed and the window pane, “who is this?”

He peered over his shoulder, any hint of a smile now vanished like etchings being erased from a page.

“You don’t recognize him?”

 _Him_ , a photo full of faces, and he knew who you were asking about. He’d probably stared too long at the ghost himself. You wondered if he ever placed the frame down at night to sleep better; you would have, if you’d killed someone you cared about.

“You know I do.”

Reiner held his hand out, long arm stretched across the back of the couch. You finally talked your feet into moving, shuffling across the hardwood as you placed the offending item into his upturned palm. 

Then, you sat next to him, your knees bumping together as you tried to analyze the emotions stirring within. You couldn’t quite place any of them—Regret? Fear? Curiosity? Sadness? But they were quelled when Reiner placed his hand on your twitching thigh, pressing that anxiousness away for a moment.

“Marcel Galliard, Porco’s older brother.”

Your lips parted, both of your attentions centered on the souvenir held between you.

“It was his birthday, and we hadn’t had the chance to celebrate mine and Zeke’s yet either, so we all went out for drinks. I unfortunately don’t remember much from that night, but I remember being…happy, content.”

“Why’d you do it?” you asked it a little quickly, “why would you…save me, not him?”

“I told you, some things I don’t have a choice about.”

“But you—you could’ve said he killed me and got away, right? You did have a choice.”

You saw how his jaw clenched, muscles in his cheek flexing.

“I don’t know.” Agony lined his voice, the words soft, hushed.

That situation was something you both thought about far too often than you’d like to admit, a late-night mulling that never led to conversation.

“I’m sorry.” You took the photo away, placed it face down on the coffee table.

“Don’t be. We can’t change the past,” he said solemnly. 

You could, however, lament it. Which is something you did perhaps too often.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Reiner wasn’t ready for what was to come. He knew he never would be, which is why he threw precaution to the wind and decided to lay his cards on the table now. 

He had to pick a side. Even if these wars didn’t truly concern him, even if the fate of countries ultimately didn’t matter to his conscious, you did—you mattered, he mattered, and he had to start thinking about things on a smaller scale. 

He wanted to go back to Paradis. He practically yearned to go back in time, to return to a place where being Eldian didn’t matter, where his status didn’t matter, where he could remake himself into something new. If it hadn’t been for his binds connecting him to Marley, he could’ve actually seen hope instead of sorrow on the horizon. He could never seem to cut the vines, could never actually get away from the people controlling his life. 

But now, now he saw an out, and it was with you. When this cataclysm first happened, all he wanted was for you to be dead, for you to go away and leave him and his miseries alone to rot and wither. Being with you, however, reminded him of a life he could have. He just had to make it happen, he had to start molding his own clay, had to keep bearing the weight of the world like the weary Atlas until he could find a way to make it turn in his favor.

He was tired of wishing for death.

Which is why he had to bring you here and why he would handle the consequences that were waiting in the distance. 

You might not be very helpful to Marley, but he could be of use to Paradis.

“I believe you,” he hadn’t noticed he was still touching you, fingers gripping onto your leg like a lifeline, “about Zeke. I believe you because I—we, Pieck, Annie, Bertie—we know he’s up to something beyond what he tells us and the generals. He _is_ working with someone in Paradis. We don’t know who, but we do think we know what for.”

“Oh my god… _oh my god_. Why didn’t you—”

“You think I can just fucking _say that_ when anyone could be outside my door listening?” 

“I thought you said I wouldn’t like what you have to show me.” 

He noticed how your shoulders relaxed, like you’d been holding in tension for far too long.

“That’s not…I have something else for you.”

He didn’t move just yet, not quite ready to actually set this all in motion.

This all hinged on you. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you quite well; of course, that was the you of four years ago. The you he had next to him now was older, scarred, burdened, but he still felt that same magnetic pull to you that he could never explain. He was just a moon consigned to orbit you, to be connected to you even when neither of you desired the attachment.

He knew you were going to be upset, livid; his skin was already prickled at the thought of how you would possibly punch him if when you read what he had to give.

At least you always looked pretty when you were angry.

He could still remember how Jean had cowered undeath his desk when you’d stomped into the office after discovering he’d used the branch’s own money to play in a high-stakes poker game while undercover. He’d been fishing for information on the elites, found himself tipsy, and then found himself on the receiving end of your fury. The only thing that stopped your yelling was Erwin, who, for personal reasons, didn’t want any fuss made over government money being gambled away.

 _Erwin_. He’d never cared for how close you were to him.

Reiner finally stood, expecting you to sit and wait, but you were following him like a shadow, small hand wrapped around his forearm as he moved to his computer. When he sat down, that hand moved up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing into his muscle with encouragement. It didn’t really put him at ease.

He turned the desktop on, the monitor flashing to life. He typed in his password quickly, then went searching for that folder he’d kept hidden away so he’d never bother to look at it again. 

“Hand me one of those,” he nodded his head in the direction of a small container of flash drives on the other side of his desk. You plucked one out of its resting spot and went ahead and placed it into the port on the computer. He knew you wouldn’t question why had so many on hand—you both knew how it all worked, you both kept important documents that had to be shuffled around digitally.

Familiar names lined the inside of the folder, ones he’d once tried to forget. He heard you suck in a quick breath and took a moment to look up at you. Your brow was set, tongue obviously caught between your teeth to keep yourself from saying anything. 

This was his job. He was in charge of keeping tabs on The Scouts, he was the one who fed Marley all the information they could. Well, _almost_ all of it. 

“These are files I never gave over. They’re yours now. I never gave Marley everything they wanted I…I thought I was protecting you. There’s also a few files on Zeke that Pieck created in here, too.” 

You both watched as he copied the folder over to the flash drive, one by one the names and dates slowly dropping into a new safe place for them.

He touched your waist, signaling you to step back. He rolled his chair out, ducking under the desk for a split moment to gather a box of the printed documents he had actually handed over; the action was a mistake. 

You were leaned over him in an instant, hand clutching and moving the mouse so quickly it scraped against the desk. He attempted to reach up and stop you, but he paused—there were still bruises on your wrist, on your fingers, faded watercolors of surviving pain. He’d gripped your hand, your wrists, all day, why hadn’t you stopped him?

He already knew which file you opened; he didn’t need to look. But he did anyways, moving the crate to the side and sitting back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest. His poor heart felt like it was going to burst.

Marco Bott’s face filled part of the screen, all sweet and freckled like he remembered. Those kind eyes were looking straight at him, judging him. Reiner was just waiting, he knew what was said in there, he _wrote it all_ , still recalled how puffy his eyes were when he did it, how much he regretted it.

There was a pregnant pause, one so heavy he felt like he was being crushed.

This all hinged on you. He needed you to help him, needed you to help _you_.

_“I fucking knew it.”_

He was already flinching, shrinking. He watched the screen scroll, the black letters and white spaces all a blur.

“Threat eliminated by gunfire, killed by organized crime members after…” you hesitated, eyes dancing as you reread the words, “after his gear was removed to ensure death.”

He was on his feet before you could hit him, backing away from your clenched fists, chair rolling to be forgotten in the corner.

“What. Did. You. Do?” 

Each word came with a step toward him. He was running out of space, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch as you encroached upon him.

 _“What did you do?”_ Your voice was getting louder, pain written across your face like he’d just stabbed you. “You told me there was no fucking _truth_ about Marco!”

“There isn’t! Marco’s dead, there’s no changing—”

“ _There’s no changing the past_ ,” you mocked his words, venom dripping from your tongue.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Your blood was boiling, wrath itching between your fingers. 

You were going to kill him. You were going to wind your fists around his neck and watch the life drain slowly from his eyes like he fucking _deserved_.

You couldn’t believe you’d let you guard down, that you’d started to _trust_ him. You always knew something had gone awry the night Marco died. He’d been slaughtered, ransacked with bullet holes across his body. It was like he had been dropped into the line of fire, dangled out like a piece of meat to be eaten alive.

And he didn’t have his gear, that’s what stumped everyone looking into the mess of it all. It was like he had walked in unprepared, like a boy on a suicide mission walking straight to his death. Thirty-six bullets and even more empty, splattered holes littered had riddled his corpse. Jean had fallen to his knees. Connie didn’t speak for a week. Sasha didn’t eat for days.

Because of _Reiner’s_ decision, that man suffered, you all mourned, and you felt like you most of all had let him down. Marco had been your protégé, you’d taught him everything he knew, and that was the first mission he was allowed to go on after his training. You’d been tailing a rather violent gang, found their hideout, and were infiltrating for arrests and to see what was inside. Marco had been paired with Reiner and Bertholdt to lead the first wave of infiltration, while you and the rest waited for the signal to rush the back doors to the run-down ranch not far out of the city of Trost. They’d been up ahead by the barn that was sandwiched between stables.

But your signal turned to sounds of gunfire. You could still hear it echoing in your ears as you approached Reiner. The sounds of metal clicking, of repeated blasts from automatic weapons ringing across the hillsides like single note windchimes in a raging storm.

“Tell me why.”

Your fingers were digging into his shirt before you could stop yourself, the threads of the worn Henley threatening to rip from your nails sinking into it. You could actually feel his heart beat against his chest, a frightened bird trying to flee his ribcage.

When he didn’t speak right away, your anger flared, made you shove him back against the wall with all your might. It made your arms hurt, like you’d just slammed your hands against brick, a sharp pain that made you hiss.

“He overheard us—”

“Overheard _what?_ ”

You could tell he was getting a little infuriated as well, nostrils flaring as he looked down his nose at you. It must look funny, you pressing him against the wall of his own apartment. Reiner was nearly twice your size—he was bigger than most people, and he towered over you like a looming threat.

“Let me fucking finish,” he took a deep breath, eyes nearly glazing over, “He overheard Bertie and I talking about how we should relay the details of that gang, of organized crime in general, to Marley. We—we hadn’t had time to talk alone since we’d been prepping that shit for days. We didn’t know Marco followed us around to that side of the rooftop.”

“That’s _it?_ He heard you whispering little secrets and you _killed him_ for it?”

One of the buttons near the neckline of his shirt popped as your knuckles dug deeper into the fabric.

“He literally heard us say that we needed to find a time to call General Magath of Marley. If he lived and told someone that—,” his breath caught for a moment when one of your nails started to pierce his skin, “it would have compromised our entire mission. We’d been there for _three years_ , and he could’ve ruined it all.”

You were at your breaking point. You could feel that terrible heat that comes with sadness creeping up your neck, snaking around to your cheeks. If you weren’t careful, you were going to cry. All this time, all this time spent wondering _why_ , and _this_ was why he had to die?

Killing wasn’t unusual in your life. It was part of the job, something you’d unfortunately had to do on a few occasions. You knew those strangers who ate your bullets or your knife had families, that they were _people too_ , but most of them were monsters, thieves, rapists, threats to the corrupted balance of the governmental structure. But Marco…he was like family, and finding his limp, almost unrecognizable body had sent even the most hardened veterans into despair. Levi took off from work the next day; the only time he had ever missed a day on the job.

“Tell me how!” You truly didn’t mean to scream it, but the emotions raging in your stomach, your chest, it all ached too much. 

“Be quiet, I have neighbors—”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about your god damn _neighbors_ , Reiner!”

He finally moved then, his once idle hand now jerking up to your face to fiercely hold your cheeks beneath his fingers. You tried to smack his hand away, your own fingers digging and tugging at his wrist.

“Letme-go!” Your words were jumbled, your open mouth allowing his fingers to press your cheeks in between your teeth.

“You have to be fucking quiet,” he hissed, a whole new light shining in his eyes, a familiar rage you had seen when you’d fought against him the day Paradis was invaded. The reality of how large he was sunk in again; he looked like a vengeful god peering down at you, all hot-blooded and incensed.

You thought for a moment he wouldn’t hurt you, but then you remembered he already had. He had the inclination to be just as cruel as you could be.

His fingers stayed firm against your cheeks, holding you like he was daring you to speak again. 

“Tellmehow,” you managed to spit out, wincing when he took the leverage he had on your face and used it to shove you back. You stumbled, banging into the side of the couch as you rubbed at the sore flesh of your mouth.

But he was unmoving, back straight against the wall, a statue built on the foundation of wrath and agony, waiting to crack and fall onto you if you made the wrong move.

“We knew their guards were patrolling. Bertholdt covered his mouth while I stripped him of his equipment, of his guns, and I pushed him off the roof and into their sight.”

He said it so calmly that it made you sick. But that was a reality he had to live with every day, wasn’t it? He had to replay in his mind over and over again that he had done such a vile thing, he had to justify it else it would eat him alive.

Your tears were hot, but contained, your lashes blinking them aside as you just stared at him. You opened your mouth to scream at him, you were so ready to spew hatred and let it burn him, but he was quicker than you. 

With one step, he was on you, your hair wrapped in his fast as he wrenched your head to the side, smarting your scalp to silence you.

“Marco’s _dead,_ and I’m sorry for it. You fucking screaming will do nothing but have the assholes who live below me calling the authorities and you’ll find yourself in a much worse prison than before.”

You didn’t like how he was right. Still, you glared up at him, brows pinched together in pain.

It felt like you’d merged into him, those rapid hearts within your chests suddenly beating as one with the same suffering, the same torment. You both had to live with the poor reality of your lives; you were killers, you were monsters too. 

You were too close to him, could smell the heat of his skin, could feel his breath against your sore cheeks. Your hands were flat against his chest, trapped between you, his arm an anchor as it tugged at the roots of your hair, keeping your face turned towards his.

You couldn’t help but look at him, there was nowhere else to focus, only on him. It was like you could see the pages of a book open across his face, wretchedness and anguish painted in broad strokes in the fair wrinkles around his eyes, in the curve of his brow. It was beauty and pain bleeding together, the amber color of his eyes swirling as he searched your own face like he was looking for something. What would he find hidden behind your own grief?

“I hate you,” you whispered, breath long gone.

“I know.”

“And I’ll never forgive you.”

It was like he was moving closer, the time you were losing now completely stopped, frozen between your bodies.

“Don’t want forgiveness,” he caught your whisper and gave it back, “just judgement.”

His lips met yours with a bruising fervor. 

The hand in your hair flexed, pulled you closer, made you gasp as your hands slid up his chest. Your fingers found his rumbling throat, and in the back of your mind, you recalled how just moments ago you were waiting to snatch the life from his neck. You felt his pulse beating beneath your thumb, a war drum beating hot and fast in his veins. Your mouth was moving against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, you didn’t know. All you did know was that this felt so wrong, like you’d taken a misstep and landed right into the lion’s lap, but that it also felt like absolution, like he was devouring your sins and taking them for his own.

Your mouth slanted for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as you fell into this new, strange rhythm. You’d thought about it before, kissing him like this, feeling those plush lips against yours, angry and hot and needy. You cherished the taste of him, like a dark, rich wine filling up your mouth, spilling over and enveloping your senses. Your tongue tempted him to open his lips, to let you in. There was no hesitation. 

His other hand found your hip, fingers mean and pulling you impossibly closer. Your palms drifted up from his neck, found his face, thumbs smoothing over cheekbones. You could feel the soft hairs of his cheeks, his chin, sweeping against your skin. It all felt too good, like you were getting lost, delirium taking over. Nothing else mattered anymore, just the gratification of tasting his emotions, of taking his groans into your mouth and echoing them back. You pressed harder into him, kept your tongue tangled with his, noses brushing as you found new beats to your rhythm. 

It was wicked, sinful, something your heart was pleading for and your mind screaming out against. But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t stop. It was as if you kissed for as long as you’d known each other. Every year passed by, every regret, every sharp turn of your tongues against one another, all the hurt and longing, placed into one moment of your bodies finding one another.

When the heat began to die, you were both still stroking the flames, deep, languid kisses turned into smaller presses of your lips against one another. It was intoxicating and you felt so drunk, so, so drunk off of him.

There was a stillness between you, like the gentle sigh and breaths of the world as it awoke to the morning sun when you finally stopped. A lulling peacefulness lingered in the wake of what you’d done.

His hands were still on your body, in your hair, looser now. Yours were still on his face when your eyes fluttered open.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, lips plump, wet.

“I know.”


	7. Blinding Pleasures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has commented, subscribed, and encouraged me while creating this series, and I am especially grateful for your patience as I worked to update this series! I appreciate you more than you'll ever know! 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter gives you some satisfaction for what we've been waiting on to happen; there will be more smut to follow in the coming chapters as well, so please heed the explicit rating from here on out.

He hadn’t let you go, not completely, fingers still timid and loose against your skin, in your hair. But your palms on his cheeks were so solid, warm, like you were grounding him, fingertips molded against his face with purpose.

Your lips were plump, swollen, parted like they were begging for a bit of mercy from his brutishness. 

He needed more. He wanted to pour more apologies into your mouth and have you drink them down like they were sacrament. 

Thoughts of you consumed him. He hadn’t even realized it until this moment—every waking thought, every dream, every nightmare, even the flashes when he slipped away into a state of unreality; it all orbited around you. Ever since you fell back into his life again, nothing else had mattered. He’d gone from wishing for your death to dying to feel your breath against him.

“Reiner…” you purred, the desperation from before now bleeding into desire, “I want  _ more _ .”

“More?” he felt your thumbs at the edge of his smirk, a thrum of confidence building in his chest, “What was it you called me? Pathetic, miserable, deplorable…and now you want  _ more _ ?” 

He was grinning, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear you acknowledge how your tongue had tried to wound his pride the night he found you behind bars; he wanted to hear you admit to wanting,  _ needing  _ him, despite his wickedness. Or maybe because of it. 

“Please.”

Your voice was soft, simple. 

The power between the two of you shifted, he could feel it. Your hatred was still simmering in the air, your earlier screams still caught in silent echoes of the room, but he’d shifted the tides when he’d claimed your mouth.

He knew you hated him for countless reasons: his arrogance, his deceit, his bloodied hands, but more than anything you hated him because you  _ wanted him _ . You craved for him to shatter you and take up residence in your remains, to fill the cracks with his presence, to both destroy and become the mirror you saw in one another.

“ _ Please _ ,” you whispered the word again like it was shameful, and it  _ was _ .

He pulled your hands away from his face.

“I never thought you’d be one to beg.”

“I’m not—,” you scoffed, an indignant little huff into the air. 

“If that’s not what you call begging, then I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re desperate.”

His full grin was back, something bubbling inside of him that had gone dormant for years. That happiness he felt back in Paradis, that  _ pride  _ that had once gotten him into so much trouble. It was surfacing again—paler in comparison, but still present nonetheless.

You caught his infectious confidence, something devious flashing in your eyes. 

“Then make me desperate,” your tongue was coy, fingers pulling at his shirt. He’d always liked those words:  _ make me _ . He enjoyed them because they were an easy command. The strength in his hands and his body allowed for him to break anything he wanted. Even if his mind was poisoned, he could still dominate you like he wanted to. He could control you under the weight of his hands.

He stepped back toward his bed, capturing your wrist to have you follow. The mattress was silent under his weight, the springs too accustomed to nights of fitful sleep to complain. You stood between his spread thighs, still clad in Annie’s clothing, still wearing that white armband that had been forced onto you.

“I’ve seen you wear so many things,” his hands were on your hips, pads of his fingers already dipping beneath the worn shirt, tracing patterns onto your stomach, “but this is the worst.” 

“Then take it off.”

He had half a mind to make you say please, but he was too eager to finally see you naked.

Slowly, he peeled away your layers, taking his time to brush his knuckles across every fresh piece of hot skin that was revealed. When your breasts fell in front of his face, when the curve of your thighs melted into his hands, he suddenly wished he had claws to scour you, mark you, carve his name into your skin and own you.

He knew you were having the same thoughts, could feel your nails gliding, nicking at his skin as you tore his own threads away. His hands met yours as you both worked to pull his pants down his thighs, his hard-earned muscle making the endeavor slightly difficult. 

Then, he was pulling you into his lap, his mouth greedy against your skin. He peppered kisses along your neck, your shoulders, sinking his teeth into the slope of your throat. You were moaning, body settling against his, your too-hot breasts bouncing against his chest, slick pussy pressing against his briefs. He slid a palm up your back, fingers spread wide, eager to twist in your hair again.

“I’ll make you mine,” he mumbled against spit-slick skin, his mouth biting into your neck, sucking until delicate vessels burst and spread into dark colors of his creation. 

“I’m not something you can own,” you punctuated your words by knotting your fingers into his hair, mimicking him and tugging at the soft blonde roots, guiding him to patches of virgin flesh still left unmarked by his mouth.

He took special care to kiss and lave over the circular scar on your shoulder. His brain felt like flickering again as he traced over that forgotten memory of yours with his fingers, but you were centering him, your nails were biting into the sinews of his back, pulling him closer, hips rolling in his lap.

“But you’re something I can  _ take _ .”

“Fuck,” you sounded breathless, head tipping forward so you could scatter wet, open-mouthed kisses along his cheekbones, his temples, his ears. It was like you couldn’t get enough of him. He groaned when he felt your hot tongue dip into the muscle of his shoulder, only to gasp when you bit him more viciously than he had you.

“Easy, princess, you don’t have to hurt me.” 

He wrapped his fist in your hair to tug you away, hissing with a mixture of pain and pleasure when your teeth scraped across his skin.

“Don’t call me—” his other hand engulfed your breast, thumb rolling and pinching at your nipple, causing your complaint to be caught between your teeth as you hissed, “—I  _ want _ to hurt you.”

There was an intensity steaming within your eyes as you looked down upon him. You meant those words, and he couldn’t blame you for it. He’d hurt you so many times, the hands on your body were stained with blood and steeped in apologies he owed you.

“I’m always hurting for you.” 

He bucked his hips, letting his aching cock slide against the folds of your bare sex through his briefs. His stomach was in knots; he still couldn’t believe this was happening, he was anxious, but lust and pride were making his brain foggy, making his body hurt.

“I…” he kneaded at the soft flesh of your tit in his palm, encouraging some jolts of pleasure to race under your skin as you decided on your words.

“I like it when you’re speechless,  _ princess. _ ” He put emphasis on the pet name, reminding you that he could call you whatever he fucking wanted when he had you on his lap, in his arms, in his hands.

Ferocity was revving inside you. He knew you didn’t like that moniker, it was something he used to call you years ago. He did it to knock you down a notch, to get under your nerves and pull at the frayed ends because he had an inkling you were just a little princess who liked to be  _ spoiled  _ underneath all your pride.

You were like him; you enjoyed putting up a fight, but in the end, you wanted to be broken.

Your fist wound itself around his throat, your thumb putting pressure on the fragile column of muscle and bone. He could feel his chest tighten as his breath was caught under your hand.

“Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He would’ve laughed if you weren’t bearing down on his neck. 

Reiner let you push him onto his back, grunted when you continued to pull the breath from his body when your mouth crushed against his. He felt your thumb pet at a raised scar on the left side of his throat.

“What’s that?” you mumbled it more to yourself, lips moving between your fingers to kiss and suck at the offending piece of flesh. 

He was harder than he’d ever been, cock straining toward his stomach because you just had to have your hot little mouth sucking at  _ that  _ spot—

“It’s where you fucking cut me.”

“Oh.”

He took in a deep breath when you released his airway, only to have it pour out in a groan as your tongue traced the familiar scar. It wasn’t long, but it had been deep, enough to leave his skin pink in the wake of healing. Normally the collar of his shirts kept it hidden away; it was small enough to forget, but sometimes he’d touch it just to make his heart hurt. 

You’d been in nearly the same position when you’d given it to him. You’d knocked him down, kept him pinned under your fighting body, threatening to slice him open and watch him bleed out before your eyes. But those had been empty words, only cut off when you’d been commanded to retreat from Zeke’s onslaught on Shiganshina. Your blade had still nicked him, however, your wrist purposely digging the tip end into his skin. 

He deserved that cut far more than he deserved to feel your plump lips pressing against its scar.

You’d both already branded each other in the past.

Quickly, his hands found your hips, smoothly rolling to where he was on top of you so he could gain more of the control he desired.

Reiner loved how you molded against him, back arched, legs searching for a way to loop around and keep him closer. He loved it because he knew you hated it; your eyes were squeezed shut, lips pressed together like you were trying to muffle sounds, like you were still so full of shame and conflict.

He pressed his fingers to your cheeks, thumb and index fingers settling back into the same spots they held before when you’d been fighting.

“Look at me,” he coaxed, bracing his weight on his elbow so as not to crush your delicate body beneath his.

Your pupils were blown and so, so dark as your lashes lifted toward him. It was the same look you gave him the first time he found you awake in your cell. It sent a shiver racing down his back, spreading up to his neck. Had you wanted him then, too?

Reiner brushed his lips against yours, gentle, reverent, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he was lost in the slant of your mouth, your tongue teasing him, “have you thought about me?” 

He was already trailing down your body, taking his time to revisit the swollen spots and dark bruises he already left on your neck and shoulders. Heat hit his cheeks as he realized the marks would be hard for you to hide—people would know what he’d done to you, and he wanted them to. There was no rule that he couldn’t fuck you; he could even say he was just following his orders of making you comfortable enough to spill Paradisian secrets. 

“Sometimes,” you admitted, head dipping back against his pillow as you moaned, “I’ve wondered what those big fingers would feel like inside me.”

His hand slid down to your chest, wrapping itself around your breast so he could feel the weight of it within his palm. Then he enveloped it within the warmth of his mouth. Your lips fell open as you whined for him, desperate for more, the sounds racing between his legs.. His tongue swirled around the peaked bud of your nipple, his hand mimicking the actions of his mouth upon your other breast. Your hips pressed up against his firm body, reacting to every little touch or scrape of teeth. He groaned against the sensitive skin; he could feel gooseflesh trickling down your sides. His lips left your nipple, only to be placed on the top curve of your breast. He sucked at the soft flesh roughly, causing you to jump at the sudden influx of pain and pleasure. He growled, biting at your tit, littering it with dark red and purple bruises just like the rest of you. 

But he was too impatient, quickly abandoning your beautiful tits to move further down your body. He pressed kisses into your stomach, already imagining how pretty you were going to look stuffed with his cock. 

He hooked his arms around your thighs, reveling in how loudly you moaned when he spread your legs even further apart so he could drape them over his shoulders. 

“I always knew you’d have the prettiest pussy.” 

“ _ Fuck _ —Reiner, just, shut up and put your mouth to good use.” 

He arched an eyebrow as he looked up the expanse of your body to find one of your hands gripping the pillow above your head, the other digging into his sheets like you were holding on for dear life.

He kept his eyes on your face as he dug his fingers into the fat of your thigh, bringing it to his mouth like it was a delicacy to be revered. He took too much delight in watching how your mouth parted as he sunk his teeth into your thigh, just enough to abuse the sensitive skin and make you squirm. He then ran his tongue across the sore flesh, knowing that his spit would cool and cause your skin to prickle. He repeated this a few more times, slowly inching his way toward your alluring, soaked pussy.

“Reiner…”

God his name sounded so good in your mouth.

He didn’t answer you, just dipped his head lower, tongue now tracing a path at the juncture of your hip and thigh.

That hand of yours that was twisted in the sheets suddenly found its way into his hair, your fingers lost in the shaggy locks.

“ _ Reiner _ , please, please I want  _ more _ .”

But you’d already said those words; he’d heard them earlier when you begged for more of his kiss. 

“You can do better than that.”

He let your thighs rest against his shoulders, his too-strong hands moving to where his thumbs could spread that pretty pussy of yours apart. He bit back a groan at the sight, practically salivating at the sight of your wet, weeping cunt just begging for him to dip his tongue into you.

You sucked in a very deep breath, “I think about your mouth, your hands, on my pussy all the time, I-I’ve wanted to sit on your face for  _ years _ , so please, please, do  _ something  _ before I—!”

A low, deep growl left his throat as he licked a long, hot stripe up your quivering cunt. He heard you slap your hand over your mouth, muffling a loud moan. 

“Ah, ah,” his arm was long enough to reach the crux of your elbow on the bed, jerking your palm away from your cheeks, “I want to hear everything that comes from the filthy little mouth of yours.” 

“But, your neighbors…”

“I thought you didn’t give a fuck about my neighbors? Or do you only want to scream for me when you’re angry?”

He grinned against your folds as your thighs pressed against his cheekbones, your poor skin still so hot from all the hickeys he left behind.

You used the fingers in his hair to tug him forward, but he resisted, instead electing to just repeat the motion of slowly sliding his flattened tongue up the middle of your pussy, your folds hemming around the wet muscle. He could already tell he was going to get addicted to your taste, to the way you kept gasping at his touch.

Quickly, he dove between your thighs, mouth eager and insatiable. He was messy because he wanted you dripping, wanted you needy and whiny and begging and crying for him like he’d always imagined. He kept you spread open with his fingers, tongue assaulting your sensitive clit. He moved the tip of his tongue in tight circles, feeling your lower stomach and thighs clenching and shivering beneath his ministrations.

He relished in the power he had with his mouth between your legs, but at the same time, he was here to repent. He hadn’t forgotten the raw emotions that had poured from your chest earlier. 

Reiner mumbled apologies against your pussy, the words lost within the sloppy sounds of his tongue and lips against your wet folds. 

He would make you feel lost; make you forget everything if only for a moment.

“You taste so good,” he praised, purring against you before dipping his tongue lower, prodding at your tight hole. Your fingers in his hair turned into a fist, your hips rolling up and encouraging him to plunge into you. Sweat was beading at the nape of his neck, his cock so hard he felt like he was going to burst. He kept his hips pressed to the mattress, trying to keep his mind between your legs instead of on his own body. He needed to prep you first, needed to award you the fingers you’d admitted to thinking about. 

Soon, he shifted his mouth upwards again, filling your needy pussy with two of his fingers as his mouth continued to work at your clit. 

The most exquisite little moan left your lips, followed by a whispered, “yes, yes, yes, yes,” your gummy walls tightening around his digits as they pumped into you a little recklessly. Initially, he’d wanted to take his time with you, to drag out your pleasure and have you aching for him, but you were already so wet, so willing, mouth open with quick, breathy pants and your pussy clenching and drawing him in closer. You were already so needy, your slick staining the hair on his cheeks and pooling into his mouth.

“You like that?” He curled his fingers inside you, quickly finding that sensitive and spongy spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling back and your hands grasping at your tits for some semblance of stability.

“S-so good, feels  _ so good _ , just a- _ ah,  _ a little more.” 

He spread his fingers as he curled and pumped them, taking a moment to marvel at how your pussy wrapped around them. 

“A little more and what, princess? You’ll cum for me?”

Your head snapped up, blinking like you’d be snapped out of a dream. 

“D-don’t call me—” 

He silenced you by stuffing his fingers deeper inside of your cunt, thumb taking over for his mouth and drawing heated, sloppy circles around your clit. Your whole body was rocking, hips bucking down against his hand as you sought your release. He felt like he was watching something forbidden;  _ you  _ were not supposed to have his name on your breath,  _ you  _ shouldn’t be naked, writhing in his sheets, squeezing at your divine tits while you prepared and shuddered as your orgasm prepared to release from his hands.

But there you were, a blessed sight before him, his apologies and his fingers stuffed inside of your pussy. 

Your thighs clenched closer than before, your whole body tightening. He kept his face close to your sex, admiring how you well you took in the onslaught of his greedy fingers. 

“ _ Fu-uck _ ,” he heard you rasp, your body stilling. He ceased his motions, cupping his mouth around your pulsing pussy so he could lap up what leaked from inside of you. You looked beautiful, spent, like you’d been swept out to sea but floated home to safety. 

Next time you came for him, he was going to make sure his name was on your tongue. 

━━━─── • ───━━━

You watched with watery eyes as Reiner sat up between your thighs, bringing his dripping fingers to his mouth. He dragged the digits along his tongue, cleaning them with a cocky grin tugging at his cheeks.

Your chest felt so heavy after your orgasm; it had torn through you like an arrow pierces flesh, hot and fast and pointed, like you were ripping apart in ecstasy. And all because of him, because of Reiner Braun. Not that long ago you were desperate to wrap your fists around his neck and kill him, and now you were just desperate to feel him take you, to use your body and make you feel that blinding pleasure all over again.

That urge to hurt him was still present, still lingering underneath your composure, but it was being battled by your lust and the years you’d spent wanting to fuck him. You’d never allowed yourself to when you were both back home; Reiner always seemed like trouble, especially to you. You were worried if you opened your legs for him, he’d worm his way into your heart, into all your hurt.

But everything was different now—you didn’t know if you would ever see home again, but this man whom the gods and whatever celestial beings existed kept tying and binding you to was here, and he wanted you, and you were so ready to let him have you, hold you, break you.

You felt your mouth open as you watched him finally rid himself of his boxer briefs.

His cock was thick and long, curving ever so slightly up towards his stomach. A few veins were throbbing up his length, plump and enticing. His cock even looked big in comparison to his mighty palm, the red, swollen head leaking out over his thumb. He had the kind of cock you thought only existed in porn, so fucking thick that you wonder if coke-can cock would even be an apprioprate descriptor. 

“Oh my god, if you had fucking  _ told me _ you have such a fat cock…” you trailed off, feeling saliva pool under your tongue. God you wanted him in your mouth.

“Impressed?”

“Very.” 

“Then beg for it.”

You couldn’t believe it, but you loved seeing that ego of his come back to life. You loved seeing confidence brewing behind his honey eyes again, loved seeing him proudly wrap his hand around his cock and pump it for you.

“Haven’t I done enough begging, Reiner?”

“You’ll beg as much as I want you to.”

He held a playful smile on his face as he spread your legs again, this time keeping them around his waist as he settled back on top of your body. He wrapped his fists around your wrists that were lying by your face, keeping you pinned below him. Your pussy was still singing from your orgasm, but a new string of pleasure was coursing down your spine at his words. 

“Pretty please,” you moaned into his ear, “please fuck me, you’re all I want.”

And you meant those words too; the world could start ending and the only thing on your mind would be how good his weight felt between your hips.

His cockhead brushed against your slippery folds, your body shivering as he made contact with your swollen clit before pressing gently against your tight entrance.

He was bigger than— _ no _ , you didn’t need to be thinking about anyone else. Just him.

“Please fuck me, fuck me hard. Fuck me so I forget what you’ve done.”

He released your wrists, his hands molding to your hips, pushing you down.

You could feel his groan rumble up your own chest from where your bodies were pressed together. Your hands were gripping at his back, nail already sinking into the rolling muscle of his shoulders. He felt heavy, solid. He smelled familiar, like nostalgia was bubbling at the surface of his skin, enveloping your senses as you took in a deep breath. He felt like home. 

White-hot heat spread over every nerve ending as he pushed himself inside of you. He was rough, quick, hips snapping so he could plunge into your depths in one swift motion. You were wet enough to accept him, but still you burned from the intense stretch. You whined his name as you felt yourself slipping away into that headspace of sex. 

He kept himself sheathed deep inside of you for a moment, letting you feel the thickness of his cock, the heaviness of his thighs against yours. He was panting into the curve of your collarbone, like he was steadying himself, or perhaps he was preparing.

“Move,” you demanded, trying to roll your hips that were pinned under his might.

You both moaned and hissed as he followed your order, drawing himself in and out of your compliant pussy. The thick veins of his cock dragged against your walls as he moved, making your lashes flutter from the sizzling pleasure of it all. He’d barely started and you were already falling into a delirium. It was like the first taste of an addiction; heavy, sweet, all encompassing, like his cock between your legs was all you ever needed.

He set a slow pace, a purposeful one, each thrust causing primal sounds to erupt from your throat. All worries were gone —you couldn’t think about his past, your future, if anyone was looking for you, if you were in danger. All that mattered was him, was this moment.

Soon his tempo changed. He sped up, hands still locked around your hips, fingers mean and bruising. Every mark he’d left on your body suddenly began to sing with the ecstasy of him pounding away inside of you. Your nails were helpless, scratching lines you knew would bleed red down his back. 

“How does it feel?” He whispered your name against your neck; you could feel him smirk against your skin.

“S-so good,” your breaths were quick, hot, “so  _ full _ .”

You whined when he pulled his body away from you, seamlessly settling on his knees so he could look down at you as his cock pumped away inside your clenching cunt.

“Yeah? Like being stuffed full of my cock?” 

You merely nodded your head, lips pressing together as your hands fisted the pillow next to your head. All your shame was gone, instead filled with delight as you watched how his eyes raked over your bouncing body, over all the damage he’d done to it for the sake of claiming you.

Those shining, golden orbs of his landed on where your bodies were conjoined. It was like a fire was lit behind them as he marveled at your tight pussy sucking him in, perfect flesh wrapped around him, cream pooling at the base of his cock showing how much your body wanted him.

“I hate you...so much,” he whispered it into the heat of the air, his confession encouraging him to grip tighter, push harder. You felt the change in the atmosphere, like something darker was brewing between you. 

You were tempted to spit the hatred back at him, but any words you were thinking of were lost when he flipped you over far too-easily. 

It was a shock, to suddenly have your face smashed into his pillow, his leftover scent invading your nose. And it was wicked to feel him maneuver you like a little rag doll, heavy paws gripping at your waist and pulling your ass up to meet him.

He shoved his cock into you wickedly, roughly big hands holding your ass and pulling you back against him as he began a ruthless pace. It felt like a punishment. You screwed your eyes shut, a cry erupting from your throat at his brutality. Your fingers fisted into the sheets, your back arching from his force. Your world narrowed; all you could focus on was Reiner inside of you, using your pussy like it truly belonged to him, like he had a right to treat you however he wanted.

You felt a sick, twisted satisfaction of feeling him come alive behind you. You did this to him, made him go nearly feral and lose control. Or maybe it was the opposite. With you, he could have all the control he wanted, needed. Your body reacted to every touch, every suck, every plunge of his hips. You moaned, whined, bucked, shivered, like an instrument being played by vicious hands.

His heavy balls were slapping against your clit, making your body twitch with little shocks of bliss with every movement. You could feel every splayed finger upon your ass and hips, each one digging and pressing into you, pulling you in closer, deeper upon his cock. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his curses kissed your ears.

You didn’t have the mind to speak, his depraved pace had you drooling against the sheets. Little gasps and groans of pleasure were the only things able to escape your mouth.

He was like an elemental force taking over you, and you wanted him to. You wanted to fall prey to him, wanted to get lost in the gravitational well that was Reiner Braun.

One of his hands began to glide up your back, fisting in your hair and jerking you back. A small scream fell from your lips as your head was pulled from the pillow, pain blooming from your scalp. It changed the angle, had his cock hitting a new, softer spot inside you that had your vision blurring.

Your hands were barely able to keep their grip on his sheets, making your thighs slip back against his. 

“I like watching you struggle,” he purred, yanking his hold on your hair. You whimpered in response, starting to become overwhelmed by the pain and the pleasure. Your body was aching, from lust and discomfort, from ecstasy and weakness. You knew you were entirely in his hands. He could drop you, he could stop giving you the bliss that was burning between your legs and around his cock. But he kept pumping inside of you, deep groans spilling over your naked back and soaking into your skin.

H e pulled you up higher, leaning forward to capture your shoulder between his teeth. You could feel his massive body rocking against yours, over, and over, and over again, a sinful rhythm. His cock ramming so deep inside of you that you felt it deep within your throat. His hand on your hip slid to the front of your body, fingertips circling over your clit and making you cry. Tears were pricking your lashes —you were full of emotions you couldn’t name, full of him.

“Reiner, fuck, oh god,” one of your hands flew to your breast, the other landing on the merciless fingers that toyed with your pussy. It was a weak effort to keep him there, to have some semblance of control. 

“You’re getting tighter,” he grunted, hand leaving your hair so he could wrap it around your belly, brawny arm caging you against his solid body, “gonna cum?”

Your head leaned back against his shoulder, salty, burning tears now streaming down your cheeks. 

Your cunt was throbbing with every wicked plunge of his cock. He was reckless, fucking you like an animal, like man both in and out of control.

“Please, please, please, please,” you were back to begging, so close to release that it was almost painful.

“Please what, princess?” 

“Please, let me cum.”

_ Let me _ , like he had dominion over your pleasure. And he did, you knew he did.

He kept his fingers on your clit, ruthlessly swirling through the wetness, keeping you close and shaking around his cock. Your stomach muscles were tightening, fresh heat creeping over your skin. It was like each thrust was taking you up a ladder to heavenly pleasure, each one sending you higher, but making you fall harder at the same time.

“Cum for me,” it was a hushed command, pressed into your neck, “say my name when you do.”

Your mouth opened, pretty, pained sounds falling down onto your bodies. He somehow pulled you closer, cinching your back against his chest with that heavy arm beneath your breasts.

You were too hot, you were losing yourself, lost to the indurate thumping of him inside your pussy.

“Gonna... _ fuck _ , I’m…” your head hung low, waves of pure bliss already creeping up on you, “ _ Rei-ner! _ ”

You weren’t sure if it was the sound of his name or the sucking of your cunt that sent him over the edge with you. Hot, thick ropes of cum coated your insides as you completely fell apart. Your orgasm was more intense than before, lasting longer, like the thick stretch of his cock kept you open for more ecstasy to keep rolling over your body. You were screaming silently. 

Though his body was still, he was solid and kept you in place as you both rode out the intensities that your bodies were craving. Your hands clung to his forearm, head now so heavy you could barely think. 

But soon the cloud of lust was lifted, your forms crumpling into the mess of sheets below you. Reiner landed on his back, chest heaving with breaths. You were still on your knees, palms spread onto the bed as you tried to regain your senses. You could feel his cum sliding down your thighs, sticky and slow.

You were used, spent. But suddenly the weight of the world was back on your shoulders. 

You glanced over to him, straightening your back and sitting up. He looked as wasted as you were, drunk but coming back to life, face flushed with those glorious arms of his above his head.

Reiner brought one of his arms down, hand upturned and offered before you on the bed. He looked like some muted, tired god within his sheets, looked like he was giving you an offering. 

What waited for you within his hands after this? 

Peace? Forgiveness? Or was it judgement? Pain?

“You okay?”

You nodded solemnly, taking his outstretched hand and bringing it up to your face. He cupped your cheek, thumb wiping away the remnants of tears that he wasn’t quite sure why you shed.

“What now?” 

It was one of those loaded questions, you knew that. It held too much meaning for him to answer. What would come of the two of you now? What feelings were brewing after this? Where did you go from here, physically and mentally?

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. His eyes were trailing over the carnage he’d brought upon your body; years of pent of anger painted all over your skin.

You pulled away from him, even though the hormones in your body, your  _ emotions _ , were begging for you to curl up next to him and be coddled. 

You turned your back, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers plucking at the sweaty sheets. You gazed out the window, found the moon trying to show her face behind snow clouds. The same moon you gazed at from your home, now presenting herself to you in a new, foreign place. Kind of like the man behind you, who offered you pieces of himself to fill your voids.

The bed moved as he did, an open palm finding your back, running down your spine. He stayed behind you, kissing at your ruined shoulders with the mouth that had hurt them.

“I’m tired,” you admitted, feeling little bits of heaviness pulling from your chest, “tired of  _ everything _ .” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired of just surviving. Here, home, it’s always just steps to live another day, to not get caught up in wars that aren’t of our making.”

He hummed knowingly.

“We could run away.”

That was a thought you’d had before. But running gets tiresome too, you supposed. This time you might not have to think about doing it on your own. You’d collided with him again, the fates had tied you together once more. Perhaps it was to start a new trajectory.

“We could,” you smiled then, a little flame of hope, of happiness, licking its way into your still hazy mind.

You turned around to catch him in an unsuspecting kiss. Your grin was still present and infectious, making him laugh as you pressed your mouth eagerly to his.

“I don’t know if we like each other enough to run away together, you know.” 

You pushed him back into the mattress, leaning over him to plant little, messy kisses upon his cheeks. 

“True,” he chuckled, moving your hair out of your face to give you a proper kiss before settling back into his pillows, “we’ll have to learn how to treat each other better.”

You took a moment to look at him. He looked so much the same as when you were younger, his beautiful smile crinkling the edges of honey eyes. But there was more etched within his features, more prominent cheekbones begging to be touched and kissed, a softness lingering within his lips.

“We’ll find a way to make gardens out of the graves we’ve made.”

━━━─── • ───━━━

You didn’t move again until he was fast asleep, the barest hint of a snore escaping his nose.

There was a growing soreness in your limbs as you silently removed yourself from the bed, feet cold against the floor. Your whole body ached, those bruises and hickeys stinging as you carefully moved the strewn desk chair back in front of his computers. 

God he was a fucking  _ animal _ , but you couldn’t complain. You’d wanted it far too much. You rubbed at the painful heat in your naked shoulders as you turned on the monitor that had gone dormant. Blue light filled the small space, making you glance over your shoulder to make sure he was still sleeping. His chest was still rising and falling peacefully, the light illuminating his hulking figure in the bed sheets. 

Your mind was so heavy, having carried the memory of his password up until this moment. You’d been sure to watch him type it in earlier, just in case. Though, it wasn’t that hard to remember—it was the name of his first dog that he’d talked about while on his mission in Paradis, and of course Bertholdt’s birthday. You typed it in quickly,  _ Honey1230 _ , and sighed with relief as his desktop flashed to life. 

You knew this was a risk. But it was one you had to take.

You knew the email by heart. It was the one that always sent you photos and love notes, a non-government one that you knew would still be checked. 

You didn’t take long, just typed out the words that had been playing in the back of your mind when the world went silent; when you weren’t wrapped up in the mess that you’d created with Reiner.

It took an awkwardly long moment to send, all the files you’d attached to it slowing it down. You sat there naked, dripping, a mess, heart pounding like you were worried sirens would start blaring at any moment. 

After the email blinked away from the sent box, you deleted it, watching the name it was addressed to disappear. 


	8. The Things We Leave Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought instead of just one chapter update, I'd come back in with two at the same time! To make up for this chapter being solely based around Erwin's perspective, I've also uploaded the next chapter at the same time which brings back Reiner and reader.
> 
> This chapter takes us back to what's happening in Paradis since reader's disappearance. A lot of plot is laid out in this chapter, and I would like to stress that while I am using the Attack on Titan world's history as a reference, I am absolutely skewing it and making some things up to fit into this alternate universe. So don't worry about manga spoilers, anything that is laid out as "history" in this chapter and any chapters after this is history I've derived for this story. Basically, I'm making shit up here haha.
> 
> Thank you again for everyone who has been supporting me! I try to respond to every comment as I can, I appreciate each and every one of you so, so much. Not every chapter will be this plot heavy, we'll get back to the intimate moments soon.

_Erwin,_

_I don’t have much time, but it’s me—I’m alive. I’m safe. I don’t know why, but I am. They want something from me here, tried to pry into me for information about The Scouts, but not much else. I’ve given over as little as I can, but enough to keep me alive for now. But it’s strange here, even some of the warriors know something is going on below the surface of what we know. You can probably tell by the email that I’m using that I’ve found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. He’s the one who has given me the multitude of files I’ve attached this email. He claims most of this intel he gathered he never gave over to Marleyan officials. He also says he can be of help to Paradis, that Pieck and the others can too. I don’t know how much of that is true. To be fair, I don’t know what’s true at all anymore._

_There are files here on Zeke Yeager, apparently put together by warrior members who have become wary of him. Dig into them, figure out what you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find a way home. And, for the love of god, please sleep. I know how you get._

_Don’t respond to this email. No one knows I have sent it._

_Always._

Erwin read the words for what felt like the thousandth time, the black lettering practically bleeding into the screen by this point. His heart had dropped when he sat down in his office this morning to find something sitting in his personal email folder, something branded with the last name of a traitor. His mind had raced into the darkest depths, assuming it was pictures of torture, a letter filled with malacious laughter, an autopsy report. But it was _you_ , you were alive, you’d found a way to reach him.

He had to keep his hand over his mouth as he grinned. You were so capable, so resourceful and rather ingenious. He’d had his doubts, but on the forefront of his mind, and his tongue, he’d said and knew you were alive.

He’d stayed in his office with the door locked for hours in the morning as he poured over the information, brows twisting in both delight and disgust as he began to make sense of the documents crafted by the wary warriors. They were impressive, to say the least, and quite frightening.

Every single urge inside of him was screaming to respond, even as he printed out the rather massive amount of documents you’d attached. He made copy after copy, blue eyes dancing like they were overcome with madness as familiar and unknown faces and information landed into the tray of the printer.

He carefully separated the files by paperclips, prepping for them to be dispersed.

You were so good. So brilliant. He’d have you home soon enough.

The cumbersome stack of papers was too much for him to carry just under one arm. The one he’d lost was burning, itching like it should be able to wrap around the bundle.

Erwin marched out of his office and into the bustling workspace, clearing his throat to the room.

“Scouts! Emergency meeting in the conference hall immediately. Drop everything and meet me there.”

Every head in the room snapped toward him, all chatter silencing. They all stared at him like he had three heads; the last time they’d had every scout in the same room was when he’d pronounced you missing nearly two weeks ago. He knew they were worried that this next announcement was of a death, of war.

“Now!”

The bustle picked up again immediately, every soldier, assistant, and intelligence officer scurrying to make it down the hall.

“Springer,” Erwin caught the young man by the shoulder as he tried to brisk by him, “there’s a stack of papers in my office. Grab it and bring it with you.”

Erwin continued in his stride toward the small auditorium, taking his known place down in front at the white boards. He could hear indiscriminate whispers behind his back as he took his time setting up a display. There was a small cork board off to the side of the room, littered with headshots of the Marleyan warriors. He cursed the face of the girl who took his arm as he pulled it to the front.

“Miche,” he called over his shoulder, knowing the towering blonde would be nearby, “Come help me.”

“Sure thing boss.”

It didn’t take much time to direct, and before long he had all the warriors lined up on the large board in front of the room. He took his own time to place the picture of your face in the center, fingers brushing over the heavy red letters of _Missing_ that were etched over your features.

Levi saddled up next to him, never one to fall into the crowds.

“Erwin, what is all this?”

“I got an email from her this morning.”

Levi didn’t have to ask. If there was ever a “her” in Erwin’s vocabulary, he meant you. You were all over his mind, more so than ever before.

“Care to share? Or was it a love letter?”

It was an unspoken truth that he’d become involved with you within the last year, and given his rather...emotional response to your disappearance, he was sure everyone was now well aware of your entanglement.

“A love letter full of promising information.”

“Tch, sounds about right. Did she give you all that?” Levi tilted his head toward Connie, who was struggling to keep the giant bundle of printed documents from sliding off the podium.

“She did. It’s time to get to work.”

Erwin didn’t even wait for the room to settle. There was no time to waste. He turned toward the confused, anxious crowd, took note of how they were all staring at him like lost children. There weren’t that many left after the attack on Shinganshina all those years ago, his scouts had either been killed off or left the ranks entirely. Recruitment had become more of an issue than it ever had been before as well. There was only a gathering of about thirty before him—the size of a small classroom, all piled into the front seats and awaiting instruction.

“I received word from our missing captain this morning.”

A shocked gasp filled the space, one of the younger girls—last name Blouse or Braus, he never could remember—literally jumping from her seat.

“She’s alive?!”

He held up his hand to calm her, to direct her to sit back down.

“As far as I know, yes. She found a way to email me this morning to let me know of her safety, and also supply us with a vast amount of Marleyan intel. Now, we need to unpack what we know.”

Erwin motioned to Springer again, wrist flicking toward the still unsteady mountain of papers.

“Hand those out, they should be sectioned by paper clips so everyone can have a copy.”

“But, Sir, I—” _I just spent all that time wrestling with those papers_ , is what he knew he wanted to say. Springer did what he was told anyways, scratching at his short hair as he hurriedly began to divvy out the printed intel.

“We’ll start with what we do know.” Erwin took a few long strides back toward the large board, feeling his empty shirt sleeve rustle by his side as he used his remaining arm to point toward the faces that had been lined up for him.

“Of course, we’re all aware that former Scout members Braun, Leonhart, and Hoover were infiltrators sent by Marley to uncover our anti-Marleyan operations. They are members of the Warrior Unit run by this man,” he placed his index finger over the person of interest, “Zeke Yeager. And there are other members of the unit as well, Galliard, Finger, and Grice. There are also candidates for this elite military squad, Udo, Zofia, and the younger Grice and Braun. It is important to note that one of their former members, Marcel Galliard, was killed by none other than our missing captain in question.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know all this!” Kirstein chimed in, “We don’t need the history lesson.”

Erwin couldn’t help but grin.

“It seems a history lesson is exactly what you need. In those files that were sent to me, you’ll learn that all these warrior members and candidates are, historically, from Eldian bloodlines.”

“Eldians? You mean...like us?” Historia tilted her head, thumbing through the pages in her lap.

“Yes. Now if you did pay attention in history class,” he narrowed his eyes at Jean, “you would remember that about four hundred years ago, there was a mass immigration of Eldians into Marley in the face of a mass famine here. However, due to Marley’s very strict borders and even stricter control on their governmental processes, it was never truly known to us what became of the Eldians that marched across their border. We knew they had been separated into internment camps, but it also seems that they have been weaponized and trained into being nearly the entirety of their military ranks. And this unit, The Warriors, are the premiere and elite squadron of the Marleyan military. And their motives toward Paradis have been largely unknown. Until now.”

Erwin took a pause, letting all this information sink in before starting again.

“Now, we know that Zeke Yeager has been working with our elite right below our noses with the hopes of changing the status quo for Eldians in Marley.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Eren sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared at all the faces on the board. It was no secret that Zeke Yeager was his long lost step-brother, sired by his father before he escaped the Marleyan border to find a better future in Paradis. As far as Erwin knew, the young man had no connections to his step-sibling, only saw him as an enemy force to be reckoned with.

“Yes, and no. Because, according to the files you’ll find penned by one Pieck Finger, it seems his plan is quite unseemly.”

“I don’t understand all this data and graph shit,” Miche admitted, eyebrows scrunched together as he licked his thumb to continue perusing the pages.

Captain Hange stood then, making her way to the front without Erwin having to beckon her to.

“These are...these are blood samples, DNA testing,” she mused, pencils stuck in her ponytail as she paced the floor before Erwin, “genome analysis, to be specific. Like they were looking for something specific in all these samples.”

“And they were. Did you get my request this morning?”

“Oh yes, of course, sir!” Hange scrambled back up to her seat, pulling out a manila envelope and then returning to hand it to him.

Erwin motioned for Miche to tape these new documents on the board as well, one next to your photo, the other now next to a photo of Historia Reiss. Then Erwin picked up some pictures that would be unfamiliar to his scouts, placing them above your head.

“These are the parents of our missing scout,” he called over his shoulder as he took an unfortunately slow time to place the photos, the lack of two hands starting to become quite bothersome. “They were Military Police members, killed in action about ten years ago. However, the information within the files on Yeager reveal that before Braun and the others infiltrated our ranks, there were other imposters sent on a reconnaissance mission within the MPs. It is cited that those infiltrators killed two people they were targeting, and I believe it to be them.”

He could tell he was losing their focus, quite a few eyes glazed over as they tried to make sense of all the new pieces being added to the growing wall of puzzles. He felt like a madman stringing up red threads, but he was almost certain of his conclusions.

“Why...why do they matter?” It was Armin who spoke this time, normally the quiet one during meetings who soaked up information like a little yellow sponge.

“Historia,” Erwin called, “does the name Fritz mean anything to you?”

The small girl sat to attention, blue eyes shining.

“Of course, they’re another noble family, like mine. Err, or the were, before…”

“Before they were killed about one hundred years ago. However, I’m inclined to believe that our missing scout’s mother was the last remaining of the Fritz line, having donned a new name for safety and falling into government positions to hopefully remain unnoticed.”

He took in a deep breath, once again letting a pregnant pause settle into the heaviness of the room.

“Which is why…” he waved his hand over the graphs next to your face and the photo of Historia on the board, “ _this_ matters. It’s been a long standing belief that elites, that royalty and those that have been elected president in our country, are somehow _different_. Almost appointed by the gods themselves because of their special blood. You know, it’s the whole issue that many take up on the fact that they see our governmental system as more of a monarchy than a democracy. But the truth of the matter is, you nobles do have different blood and genes than the rest of us. These graphs show that here.”

“Well that’s very elitist of you.” Levi cut in, standing with his arms crossed near the door.

“Perhaps. But I had Hange do a genome map between Historia and…” he sucked on his tongue, still finding a bit of pain to say your name out loud, “...and _her_. My suspicions are correct. Based on the startlingly similar genetic patterns, our missing captain is of noble heritage, and I’m inclined to believe that Zeke Yeager knows this.”

“And that’s important because it makes her more valuable,” Armin had his face in his hands, “does she...does she know this?”

“As far as I know, no. No she does not.”

“And you of all people would know.”

Erwin wanted to snap back at the snide comment that came from Eren. If he wasn’t such a good soldier, Erwin would have him on fucking patrol duty after this.

“Commander,” Armin looked sweaty, pale, “It says here that Yeager’s plan is to reinstate Eldian supremacy through uh… a means of genetic mutation. Do you know what that means?”

“No, Arlert, I don’t. And I don’t know exactly what his plans are for our scout that’s being held hostage. Which is why you’re all here. From this point forward, every ounce of your time will be spent reviewing these documents and dissecting what it could all mean. As far as I can tell, Pieck Finger hasn’t quite connected all the dots yet either. So now it’s our job to do so.”

All the heads in the room were nodding, everyone undoubtedly becoming antsy from all this news.

Erwin knew there was more to say. He had debated printing out your email as well, but he wanted to keep the knowledge that Braun and some of the warriors were possibly willing to help stop whatever was happening to himself. He knew that if he even breathed the words that traitors were offering aid, too many would be against it, too many wouldn’t believe it. That would have to be something he pondered on his own.

“Where do we begin, sir?”

Mikasa sat up straight and on the edge of her seat, like she was ready to spring into action.

“First, I think we need to dig deeper into just who was planning to meet with the Warrior Unit the day the captain was captured. We still don’t know who they were, or what was happening that warriors actually had to be present for it. Also…” he looked pointedly toward Levi, “we need to do more investigating on the day she was shot. We still don’t know who shot her, or why. It could have been an assassin looking to annihilate that Fritz bloodline.”

Levi nodded, “On it.”

“Everyone else, get to work. Get out the red tape and string if you need to, and all meeting rooms are now open to place questions and findings onto the boards. Nothing is useless; all knowledge about this situation is powerful and paramount. This could be the beginning of a nightmare, but perhaps we can stop it before it happens.”

He watched everyone leave, all with hurried steps and papers shuffling within their hands. Hange stuck around behind him, rather bewitched by the DNA findings taped to the white board.

A little voice cleared their throat next to him, making him look down. Historia stood before him, eyes downcast and her toes pointed together like she was nervous.

“Commander… I…do you have a moment?”

“Of course, what’s on your mind?”

He watched her glance toward Hange, then toward the door, and back to him.

“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee and speak alone?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she quickly breathed, happy that he picked up on the fact that whatever she had to say, it must need to stay quiet.

━━━─── • ───━━━

It seemed that Historia’s nerves were still getting the better of her as she sat in front of his desk. Erwin had always been told he was rather imposing, so he hoped she wasn’t apprehensive to just be speaking with him alone. Her hands were clenched around a mug of coffee, knee bouncing in her seat.

He’d poured himself a cup as well in the break room, having already drank it before even reaching his office. Your worries had been correct: he wasn’t sleeping much, and after what you’d sent him today, he didn’t know how you ever expected him to sleep again without knowing the truth of what was happening.

“Commander…” she took the deepest breath, eyes closing for a moment, “do you...you don’t believe in myths, do you?”

It was an odd question, one that had him pressing his lips together as he looked for an answer.

“I suppose not. Though, it would also depend on the myth; some of them hold truth to them, as they were stories attempting to cope with the unknown.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she scoffed, looking everywhere in the room but at him.

“Why? Are you here to give me a mythology lesson?”

“Have you heard the one about Ymir? And the nine titans?”

“That old tale?” He chuckled, remembering pictures in books he’d read as a child of towering beasts, “The one about how there used to be giant people, titans that roamed the lands before humanity came along?”

Historia twisted her lips, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah. That one. Did you ever know her full name?”

“Her? As in Ymir? No, she was just the goddess Ymir in all the books, gods don’t normally have last names.”

“Well, she did. Because she was human. Her last name was Fritz.”

 _Fritz_. Like your possible ancestors. Historia had earned his attention now. He sat up behind his desk, fist unknowingly clenched in his lap.

“Commander, I don’t know if this is true, but when I was a little girl, my older sister, Freida, she used to tell me all these stories about titans and how we, nobility, are descendants of gods and of...of titans.”

Erwin was trying to read her face, but the young woman just seemed full of fear, trepidation.

“Historia, I’ve heard all the propaganda about the noble families being descendants from gods. And if I offended you with my remarks in the meeting then I apolo—”

“No, no,” she cut him off, “no, that’s not what I meant. I know that my family...that the other nobles and elites have twisted all these myths to give themselves power, but what I’m saying is that it’s true. At least, I think it is. We have all these books back home in my estate that explain this true history about how people used to live in a world of titans thousands of years ago, that there were mindless titans, but also titans controlled by humans… humans that _were_ titans. And I’m just saying, if this was true…”

He was starting to put the pieces together now. The genetic mutation. The bloodlines. No wonder her thoughts had led her to this conclusion.

“You’re worried Zeke Yeager believes in these old stories, that his plan is to bring back titans?” He posed it as a question, wanting her to finish her thoughts instead of him imposing on her.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know how, but if there was some way to do it, our missing captain, if she’s actually of royal blood, like me, he might want to…” she set down her cup of coffee, finally looking up at him with eyes that shone with wisdom he’d never acknowledged before, “Zeke might want to experiment on her. Or maybe reveal her heritage and try to bargain her back to the elites. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to say this in front of everyone because they might think I’m…”

“Crazy?”

“Yeah,” she huffed, “thanks.”

“Thank you, Historia. You’ve given me something to think about.”

“But you think I’m crazy.”

He dared not to insult her outloud, but it was the side he was erring on.

“I appreciate you being willing to tell me this. It seems I have some mythology to study up on. Actually, if you ever get the chance to get your hands on one of those books you spoke about, I would like to see it.”

She stood then, leaving her coffee abandoned on his desk.

“Of course, Commander.”

He could tell her spirits were defeated as she left his office. But, nonetheless, he took the coffee she left behind as his own, settling back in to continue reading into the files you’d sent to him.

But his mind couldn’t even register the words anymore. He was so tired, and now, knowing that you were indeed alive, he was filled with nothing but thoughts on how to get you home. It would be a suicide mission to try to send a squad into Marley to rescue you. He also knew that asking the elites, even the President, to act on his behalf would probably be met with a negative outcome since they were in connection to Zeke Yeager himself. It all seemed hopeless, but he knew you were working to get back as well. Between the two of you attempting to reach the same goal, he knew, eventually, he’d have you back again.

━━━─── • ───━━━

His home was quite lonely without you.

He felt the emptiness of not having you at the Scout Headquarters, but more so he felt it when he finally drug his tired body to the apartment he lived in across the city.

It felt like a small cataclysm erupted whenever he opened his front door, all the emotions he kept at bay suddenly budding to the surface of his composure. Your shoes were still by the door, so small next to the ones he took off.

Signs of you, of your absence, were everywhere. Your coat on the back of a chair. Your favorite books still spread open and marked to forgotten pages in the cozy chair in the living room. Wine only you liked still remained chilled in the fridge, your body wash and shampoo still lined the edges of his shower. He hadn’t even washed his sheets since you left, hadn’t dared to touch the side of the bed you slept on, like the mattress was still full of your ghost when he reached out for you at night.

Even though you had your own apartment, he couldn’t remember a night he’d spent without you in the last few months. You’d become inseparable, seeking refuge in each other’s bodies against the cruelty this world had dealt you. You accepted him for who he was, even when he felt like half a man.

There were still words he wanted to say to you; there were still echoes of your voice all around the apartment, your laughter ringing in the support beams, the sounds of your moans still staining his headboard.

There were so many things you left behind, him included.

Erwin poured himself a drink before settling into the couch, not even bothering to undress from his work clothes. He needed medicine for his mind, needed to try to drink and find clarity in the too many thoughts thumping in his head.

You were noble. Of all fucking things.

He took a very long sip at that realization, almost reveling in the burn the whiskey left behind in his mouth. He could still taste you on his tongue sometimes, still feel the pressure of your lips against his if he closed his eyes. All those times he thought he was kissing something divine, perhaps he was, if Historia Reiss had any merit to her little bedtime stories.

The thought made him laugh. _Titans_. Mythological creatures. If there was one thing he knew, his enemies weren’t trying to bring things that never existed back to life. Historia was right about one thing though: you could be a powerful bargaining chip for Zeke. If the elites were holding out on something, all he had to do was dangle a pretty, royal plaything in front of their noses as bait.

He pulled your email back up on his phone, eyes scanning over all the words you sent.

You’d found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. Of all people. Erwin could still remember how much the two of you would fight when you were both soldiers, how you were adamant to take on the hulking man yourself when it came to battle.

But he also remembered how startlingly well the two of you worked together. It had been the two of you who had stopped Marcel Galliard, it had been Reiner who was the first to appear at the hospital steps when news of your potentially fatal injury had been called over the radio. The man had been panting, Bertholdt too, both of them having run as fast possible from their patrol circuit to check in on your status.

Erwin always assumed it was because Reiner was sweet on you. Boys had always been taught to tease the girls they liked when they were younger, perhaps he’d just carried that on into adulthood, practically throwing stones at you to get your attention.

Not that he could blame him. Erwin had always wanted your attention, but had kept himself restrained for professional reasons. But after Shinganshina, after Zeke showed the true force of the Warrior Unit as a warning, Erwin had quickly pulled you from the front lines. He claimed it was because your cleverness would be better served in intelligence work. Truth of the matter was that he wanted you safe. He wanted you working with him, in his sight, every day.

And now you had completely slipped through his fingers.

He’d cursed out loud when the scouts returned and revealed that you’d been captured. He even unfairly chewed out Jean for being reckless enough to get his vertical movement gear tangled with yours, but he knew the fault rested in his hands. You’d offered to go, and he’d let you.

_He_ let you go, and now he was reeling in the ash and smoke of the damage left behind.

With a finished drink, he let his mind wander to that place he tried to keep it from. He was wondering where you were, wondering exactly what you were doing. Until tonight, he imagined you were left under lock and key, but now he knew you’d gotten yourself into some situation in order to access Reiner’s email. Perhaps he truly was helping you.

Some of your words ran through his brain again: _I don’t know what’s true at all anymore_.

Erwin honestly didn’t know what was true anymore either. In a matter of hours, he’d pieced together information the intelligence unit had been trying to uncover for _years_. He was steps closer to figuring out whatever truth there was Zeke Yeager’s madness. He was steps closer to keeping the whole country safe from a disaster its own elites had their fingers in.

But he still felt so far away, so far away from you, from himself. He felt like he’d never actually fit the puzzle together, felt like he’d let you down.

All he still knew was that he loved you, even if he never actually spoke the words to you. He loved you, and he had some kind of dying hope that you felt the same.


	9. Intimate Truths

Reiner had no shame as he leaned against the door frame, eyes trapped in an infinite loop as he traced over the exposed stretches of your naked skin. You looked beautiful in the bath, warm sunlight from the window pooling over your shoulders and glistening in the water that lapped at your chest. He suddenly understood the temptations sailors must have felt toward playful water nymphs, especially when you lifted your leg from the surface, fingers sweeping over your skin as you bathed.

You looked ethereal, serene, tempting. You looked like you were his, all the bruises and bitemarks glossy on your wet skin.

“Finished with your phone calls?” You hummed, soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah, for now at least.”

“Care to join me, then?”

He was hoping you would ask. His arms stretched above his head for a moment, waking up the still heavy and tired muscles in his shoulders, his back. He’d spent most of the morning pacing around the living room in his boxer briefs, warding off questions from Zeke and setting up plans with Pieck. It was no longer a secret to anyone that he’d brought you to his apartment, which was a tricky thing to explain. He’d settled on telling a half-truth: he wanted some time alone with you to make you more comfortable. That was his job, after all, to butter you up and make you a willing participant in the Marleyan games.

He swiftly shed what little clothing he had, hissing at the heat of the water as he slid in behind you. He felt like he was boiling, but you seemed content in the warmth, all soft hums and gentle sighs as you settled between his outstretched legs.

“How is everything?”

You peered over your shoulder at him, lashes fluttering as you took in his form.

“Surprisingly calm. Though I do have a date planned for us.”

Reiner brushed his hands down your upper arms, over your back, fingers spread wide as he marveled over the smooth planes of your body.

“A date?” you laughed, breathy and sweet.

“Mhm, Pieck wants us to meet her and Annie at the library in a few hours. Didn’t explain much, just said she’s found something interesting.”

“Annie?”

Your back met his chest as you leaned against him, setting a lavender scented bar of soap to precariously balance on the edge of the tub. He’d forgotten he had that under his sink; at least it finally found a purpose, though he never expected the soap to be slipping across your skin.

“Yeah, it’s been a while for you two, hasn’t it?”

He wrapped his arms around your stomach, your breasts resting on his forearms. There were water droplets resting on your neck, dripping down to the hollow of your throat. He tilted his head down to capture them with his lips, his tongue, kissing languidly up and down your neck.

He quite liked this side of you. Tranquil, relaxed, it even felt domestic. The atmosphere felt much more conciliatory, like you’d both agreed to lay aside your transgressions.

Your lips mimicked his, kissing at the pulse of his neck as your head lolled back against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset with you.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled, one of his hands reaching up to cup your breast because he just couldn’t help himself, “you had every right to be angry.”

Your fingers laced over his, both of you feeling the weight of your breast within your hands, listening to the rhythmic thumping of your hearts. He was transfixed by the rise and fall of your chest. It was sensual, the embodiment of life, the most natural thing for any body to perform.

He didn’t know if he’d ever felt this intimate with anyone before. He’d never not bathed alone, always finding solace and silence in the water. But now he had you in his arms, both covered and uncovered by the thin barrier of water over your curves. It took a moment for the realization to settle in that you were really here, allowing him into your space like this. You’d allowed him in, even allowed him inside your body. It all felt like a privilege he didn’t quite deserve.

“If you had the opportunity, would you do it all over again?”

“What do you mean?”

He rested his cheek on the crown of your head, thumb still sweeping over your nipple.

“If life gave you a second chance, would you start over? Do things differently?”

“In a heartbeat.” He didn’t even have to ponder on that answer. He’d made far too many mistakes that he wanted to correct.

“Me too.”

You turned your face toward him, offering your lips for him to kiss. Complying, he pressed his mouth to yours, groaning as you began a slow, careful cadence. It felt like the first time he kissed you last night, only gentler, more exploratory. He took his time traversing your mouth, teeth nipping at your lips, tongues tangling. One of your hands lifted from the water to cup his face, dripping fingers pulling him closer.

There was a moment for a small breath as he broke away to test a new angle, his fingers twisting in your wet hair to dip your head back, open your lips wider. He smirked into the kiss when you moaned, a delightful sound that reverberated down your throat. He couldn’t get over how intoxicating you were.

His other hand abandoned your breast, discovering new parts of the swirling, breathing cosmos that was your body, the pads of his fingers dancing over your belly. You spread your legs knowingly, moaning again as he found the softest of flesh between them. There was still hesitancy in his confidence, power behind his touch, as his fingers dipped inside of you and he curled the digits just right.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you pulled your lips from his, his eyes opening to find your brows slightly furrowed.

“Fuck, I’m sore.”

“Sorry about that.”

You laughed, lighthearted and grinning, “You are not.”

You continued to smile through your moans, his fingers continuing to dreamily stroke and press inside you, your walls tightening at his movements. The water was splashing along the sides of the porcelain tub, sloshing back and forth in timing with his strumming of your body.

His lips were back at your neck, mapping over places he’d already been just hours before.

“It’s amazing this tight little pussy could fit my cock.”

He could practically feel your skin tingle from his words.

He circled his thumb over your clit and the high pitched moan that fell out of your mouth had his cock hard in an instant. His cock was straining against your back, throbbing and making his stomach muscles tighten.

Your hand dipped under the water, catching his wrist and ceasing his movements. He carefully pulled his fingers out of your folds, concerned that he had hurt you as you started shifting in the tub. Small waves of water sloshed into the floor as you turned around, coming face to face with him and settling into his lap. Your warm thighs draped over his, your knees barely making space on the bottom of the tub.

“Too much?” He was looking up at you, hands sliding down your back.

“Not enough.”

You captured his cock in your hand under the water, pumping at the shaft and making his head fall back. He hadn’t felt that yet—your soft palm wrapped around him, thumb circling the fat, swollen head. He had thought he could keep his control, just take a simple bath, but he should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you.

He swallowed thickly when you lifted your hips, lining him up with your entrance. There wasn’t very much he could do in this position aside from let you be in control.

“ _Fuu-uuck_ ,” he groaned, giant hands helping to keep you steady as your pussy started to suck him inside. You were so fucking tight, like he hadn’t molded your insides to be his last night. Your hot little cunt felt like heaven all over again, every inch taken in making him breathe deeper and harder.

He watched your head lull back as you pushed all of him inside of you, lips parted.

God he didn’t deserve this. Nothing he had ever done justified being ridden by something so beautiful.

Your hands held on to the muscles of his shoulders as your hips started to roll. The water started ebbing with your body as you made your own tide. He looked down to where your bodies were joined, groaning so loudly it even shocked himself.

“Yeah? Feel good, baby?” Your voice was low, sultry.

He didn’t even notice you lean down to kiss him, gaze too transfixed on the bulge he could see from his fat cock inside of you. One of his hands drifted from your waist to your lower stomach, palm flat so he could feel the movement from inside your body.

“You take my cock so well, princess, fuck, look at you.”

His praise had you moving faster, whimpering above him. Your snug walls wrapped around his length was driving him mad, sending him into that headspace where all he could think about was painting your insides white.

All his instincts were telling him to grab a hold of you and take over, but he was holding back, wanting you to set the pace with how deep he was in your guts.

He felt your hand on his face, pulling him up by his chin. Your lips captured his, tongue greedily sliding into his mouth. He grunted into the kiss as your nails dug sharply into his shoulders. It was all messy, moans bleeding into one another as you continued to move up and down, up and down, over and over again in his lap, ass smacking into his thighs and disturbing all of the cooling water.

“Couldn’t stand it, could you?” he mumbled into your mouth, “You had to have more of me.”

“Mhm, your cock feels s-so fucking good.”

“Who knew you were such a little cockslut.”

But he was the one fading, pleasure was racing down his spine, making his toes curl. He knew he was going to fall off the edge soon, just from a few minutes of your delicious cunt sliding over him. He moved the hand on your stomach lower, thumb tracing around the folds that were enveloping his cock.

If there was one thing he still had control over in this situation, he could make you cum. He swirled his thumb in a rather cruel pace over your clit, knowing it would send your senses into overdrive.

“Oh, oh, oh _please, please_.” Your head was hanging lower, mouth permanently open with gasps of satisfaction.

“You beg so pretty, so, so pretty, such a good girl.”

You cried out, cunt clenching around him. He smirked, hand abandoning your hip to reach up and grab your cheeks, the other still tormenting your swollen clit.

“Oh you like that? Like being my good girl?”

Your head nodded fervently in his hold, lips reaching for his but he kept you at bay.

“Y-yes,” you were breathless, breasts bouncing as you started to get sloppy, losing your mind on his cock, “I’m your g-good little girl.”

He was going to explode. You were too fucking good, _divine_ , even, to be saying things like that to _him_.

“Fuck, Reiner, I…”

You didn’t get the chance to say the words, orgasm ripping your body so strongly that he could feel it. He felt every muscle clench, felt your thighs shaking, felt your wet, slippery walls squeeze around him so tight he felt like he saw god.

You looked so sublime in your bliss, head thrown so far back that your back was arched, the alluring column of your throat on full display. Your tits were heaving with stolen breath, hips slowly rocking in his lap as you pulled out every last moment of rapture that you could.

He was so close, just needed a little more from your spent body. He used his strength to lift you up by your ass, bucking up into you roughly and using you like a cocksleeve.

And you let him, your grip on his slick shoulders weak, body bouncing to the hurried, desperate pace he set. Everything was so wet, warm, he felt like he was slipping under the water and drowning, but he was just lost in your body.

Reiner came with strangled roar, a gasp, some out of body experience that made his head hurt with the pleasure of it all. He felt like he was on fire despite being in the water, like his skin, his cock, were burning, pounding. And your perfect pussy soaked every bit of him up, cum spilling into your depths.

He kept himself seated inside of you as you both came down from your highs, arms winding around your back and pulling you to his chest.

“Are we going to make a habit of this?” He smoothed a hand over your cold, damp hair as he asked, unashamedly pressing a doting kiss to your forehead.

“Why not?”

You looked up at him, face flushed, satisfied. There was a bit of mirth in your eyes, something mischievous, but a lingering seriousness that made your simple question resonate.

_Why not?_

There were probably a thousand reasons why not. One of the glaring ones being that you were both prepared to hurt each other at any given moment. He’d wanted to kill you the night you were captured, and you’d wanted to wring his neck before he turned your anger into passion.

Maybe that’s what this was now. A new way to channel all the uncertain emotions you felt toward one another.

If that was the case, then why not? Why not fuck the most bewitching woman he’d ever met? Especially when you were so willing and so fucking tempting.

He knew why not, but at this point, he didn’t care. He wanted you, so he was going to have you.

━━━─── • ───━━━

It felt like the world unfortunately started turning again when you made it back to the Marleyan Warrior Headquarters. Reiner had been kind enough to loan you a scarf to keep the winter chill away, but also to keep questions about all the rather...unseemly marks on your neck at bay.

You should’ve stopped him from being so brutish, but you knew that deep down you never would have said no. It felt too good to have someone be so eager to claim you.

The two of you walked side-by-side through the building, winding down hallways and up the stairs toward the archives where Pieck was waiting.

It took you by surprise how massive the library was. Perhaps it was your bias influencing you, but you didn’t expect the Marleyans to have such a vast collection of books just sitting inside of this internment zone. The walls were littered with all kinds of colored spines and oak tables were scattered around and looked dusty from never being used. Toward the back of the room, behind several incredibly tall bookcases, you could see a desk lamp shining in the darkened room.

Reiner must have noticed you taking in the sights, your walking pace having slowed behind him.

“Impressed?”

Your face whipped towards him, heat creeping up your neck as you remembered the last time he said that, he was holding his hard cock in front of you.

You cleared your throat, “Uh, yeah. Only place like this in Paradis is in the capital.”

“It’s a shame no one is ever here, I think Pieck is the only one who has used this library in fucking decades. These are all old history and science books that didn’t... _fit_ with Marleyan teachings, if you catch my drift.”

You caught up with him, weaving through the tables.

“So, it’s everything that doesn’t fall in line with government propaganda.”

“Yeah, more or less.”

You admired him for a moment as he walked in front of you, all broad shoulders and proud, blonde head in his uniform. He looked fit to be a Vice Commander, even if you hadn’t thought so before.

There was an urge to grab onto his arm, to latch on to safety in this still unfamiliar place. But you held yourself back; you didn’t want to seem too attached to him. You reasoned it was all because he had been the only stable thing, the only light in your darkness, for days on end.

Annie and Pieck were seated at a table near the farthest wall, Pieck’s head down in her arms as she lazily flipped through a book, Annie’s arms crossed and her eyes closed like she was meditating.

A slow, sinking feeling crawled into your chest upon seeing Annie. You’d been here weeks, yet never had the displeasure of seeing her until now. She looked about the same, long blonde hair swept into a low bun, lips in a straight, unamused line. Even with her eyes closed, she appeared to have the same put-out attitude she always did.

You hadn’t forgotten that it was Annie who used Erwin’s own vertical movement gear blades to sever his arm.

That thought lit a particular fire inside of your chest. You’d been trying your hardest not to think about him, didn’t want some kind of melancholy seeping into your spirit over the man you left behind. Annie wasn’t around to actually see the carnage she brought onto him. She didn’t experience the days sitting in the hospital, the sad, knowing glances that the scouts cast at one another when they caught a glimpse of the Commander struggling with his humanity after the loss of his limb. Over the years he had come to cope with the issues, but there were intimate moments you had shared with him that were ultimately shaped by the damage Annie had created.

Then again, you couldn’t be one to judge. You’d encouraged Reiner to kill who you now knew to be Marcel Galliard, a childhood friend of all of them.

All of you in this space had some kind of blood on your hands and bitter tastes in your mouths.

Reiner cleared his throat as you approached them. You had half a mind to slide behind him, to hide yourself away behind his broad shoulders and back, but you stood still, eyes glancing between the two women.

There was an awkward, pregnant pause as you all stared at one another. You’d yet to meet Pieck until now, so her demeanor was still a mystery to you. And Annie took a moment to look you up and down, letting herself become reacquainted with your presence.

“Hmph, you look better in my clothes than I do. Figures.”

Your eyes widened at her comment, the fact of you still wearing her clothes having escaped your thoughts until now.

“Now, now, you don’t have to start off so passive aggressive. You were the one who wanted to meet, after all.” Pieck lifted her pretty head to speak to Annie, eyes blinking rather romantically as she placed her chin in her hand.

“ _You_ wanted to meet with me?”

“Well, I couldn’t avoid you forever.”

You couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face. Seems like she hadn’t changed much after all. You’d learned how to dance around her walls before, you could easily do it again.

“Please sit. I have something to share.”

You and Reiner both took seats across from them at the small, rectangular table, your knees bumping together under the surface. You absentmindedly pulled the scarf he’d give you a little closer around your neck, not wanting anyone to see what was underneath. The two of you being...involved might just be something worth keeping quiet for now.

“What is it, Pieck? You know we don’t have much time before the meeting this afternoon.” Reiner spoke to her softly, like she was something skittish. But she didn’t appear skittish, more like something gentle. Wise, perhaps, or just quiet.

Pieck extracted a folded paper from below her book, thumbs pulling at the creases.

“I found this not long ago in the War Chief’s office.”

She slid the document across the table, the crumbled edges and a stain of some sort signaling that she had probably been digging through his trash.

“What is it?” Reiner’s hand reached for it first, but she slid the paper more in your direction away from him.

“I’m not sure, I was actually hoping our new...hm, I don’t know what to call you. Friend, perhaps? Ally, maybe. I was hoping our new _ally_ might know what this is, it looks like something from a Paradisian company.”

“And while we’re here…” Annie sat up a little straighter, placing her elbows on the table, “I want to know what Zeke wanted to meet with you about earlier. He called you in to speak alone, right?”

You nodded your head, taking the heavily inked parchment into your hands.

“You know, for him being your War Chief, you all seem to distrust him as much as I do.”

“Our loyalty is to Marley, to our families, not to someone who abuses his power.” Pieck smiled at her own comment, small wrinkles framing her eyes.

The paper had a name you recognized on it: Stohess Pharmaceuticals. It appeared to be a receipt of some kind, dated within the last few months. If you hadn't spent your time working in the intelligence sector, meaning that your office had been moved directly next to Hange’s, you probably wouldn’t have been able to decipher some of the items listed. There were orders for DNA sequencing equipment, a mass spectrometer, imaging systems, large glass syringes, and strangely enough...human fluids, spinal and amniotic.

“Pieck, this document can’t be right. Stohess Pharmaceuticals was shut down about two years ago due to malpractice lawsuits. So either these dates are wrong, or this whole thing is just a front for something else.”

The three heads around you all glanced toward one another before back to you.

“No, we know they’re still in business, we were supposed to meet with them in that warehouse, that’s why we were there, I think to pick up whatever all that is listed.” Reiner admitted, which had your face lifting toward them all.

“Zeke told me in our meeting that he was going there to get more arms and ammunition.”

Annie looked particularly perplexed by your statement.

“No, we would never cross into Paradis for arms. We have a deal with a group of Military Police to bring it directly across our border.”

“You _what?_ That’s how you’ve been getting them?”

God, for working on this Zeke case for nearly a year, you felt so behind. But you couldn’t expect any less from the most elite military force in Marley. They knew how to dot their i’s and cross their t’s, they knew how to infiltrate, how to network, how to apparently slip under every radar you had.

“Zeke told us we were picking up top-of-the-line medicine, that’s why we were all present. We had to be prepared to protect it. Hell we even had giant coolers ready for whatever it was.” Reiner was scratching at the back of his neck.

“Well what it was,” you sat the paper back down, finger pointing to a specific listing, “wasn’t medicine. It was body fluids of some kind, for some reason. I don’t know whose or for what.”

Annie snatched the receipt, eyes glaring at you as she began to speak, “What else happened in your meeting with Zeke?”

“Honestly? Not much else. He had me record some bullshit for your brass. Made me state my name, my former scout positions, had me admit I wanted to help Marley because I knew of Paradis’s corruption. Overall he told me that he found me to be useless and that I needed to find a way to make myself useful.”

All three of them seemed to scoff at once.

“You’ve got that backwards. _Marley_ thinks you are useless, Zeke was the only one who showed any interest in keeping you alive for some reason.” Annie’s words were irritated. Clearly she was tired of not everyone being on the same page.

“You know,” Reiner sat back and crossed his arms, brows furrowing like he was trying to recall a memory, “now that I think about it, he seemed to know who you were the night the scouts ambushed us. When you couldn’t escape, it was like he was...excited. He made sure to knock you out before any of us could draw our weapons and he gave very specific orders that no harm was to come to you.”

“But why me? Maybe he knew I had been one of the people working on his case? I mean, for the last year or so, it’s all Miche and I have been working on.”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” Pieck chimed in, “but we aren’t sure. We were just hoping we could start working together to figure this out.”

Something just didn’t feel right.

Your whole world felt titled, shifted, like you’d been inside an hourglass and suddenly a celestial hand came and turned it upside down, allowing you to see everything from another perspective. You thought you’d found nearly all the tiles to this every growing mosaic while you were working back home. In fact, you and Erwin had managed to make some arrests in your border patrol for being in collaboration with the illegal arms trading. You knew there were still links missing as to who was getting them to the border, but you hadn’t expected it to be Military Police members. If only you could call and tell him right away, let him know more of what was happening, surely with the manpower of the scout unit they could reveal the whole picture of what was happening.

There was too much going on for you to deal with. All you wanted was to be home, to be safe. You didn’t ask for a conspiracy.

“If you’re asking me to divulge what I know, I hope you understand I won’t just be laying every card on the table. I might be playing nice, but don’t forget I’ve been _kidnapped_. My trust is on thin ice.”

They all shook their heads knowingly. For a moment, you thought you saw Reiner’s hand twitch, like it was itching to come alive and touch you.

“Yeah, we understand that. For what it’s worth, this whole hostage situation wasn’t our idea.”

You narrowed your eyes at Annie, teeth gritting.

“No, it sounds like you would’ve rather had me be dead.”

“Would’ve made things easier.”

You...you couldn’t fault her for that logic. Though it still stung to think about.

Pieck sighed at the turn of the conversation, closing the book in front of her and preparing to stand. You almost did the same, but something about the tome in front of her caught your eye. It had very specific black lettering on the front, set in a font you hadn’t seen in ages.

To the surprise of the table, you reached slowly for the thick, hardcover book, flecks of old red coloring falling onto your skin as you took it.

“I haven’t seen this book since I was a kid. I was obsessed with it. Why are you reading it, Pieck?”

You sat on the edge of your seat, waves of nostalgia washing over you as you began to thumb through the yellowing pages.

“You’ve read this book before?” Pieck sounded confused, intrigued.

“My mother had a copy of it in our house. She used to read the mythologies to me when I was little, then when I learned to read myself, I couldn’t put it down. I was fascinated by the stories of titans. I even brought the book to school one time to show my friends, but I remember distinctly getting in trouble for it. Mom said a book that old should never leave the house so it didn’t get damaged.”

They all crowded a little closer to you, silence overtaking you all as you flipped through the contents of the book. Dust was spilling into the air with every page turn, sometimes covering the detailed artwork of mystical, giant beings.

“Are you sure it was this book? Not one similar?”

“I’m certain, I would recognize the cursive lettering on the front anywhere. I was quite the bookworm, I’d even take it outside to read when I was supposed to be playing.”

Pieck’s slim fingers stopped your searching, pressing the pages down as you discovered the familiar two page spread of the chimerical nine titans of old.

“This book isn’t common. We only have it here because it was brought in by the Tybur family, an Eldian noble family, when the Eldian immigration happened a few hundred years ago. Do you know how your family came into possession of your copy?”

You all began to separate, sitting back in your seats.

“I was told my mom stole it from the library in the capitol because she knew I would want to read it. I never really asked beyond that.”

“I see.”

Her tongue clicked behind her teeth, her phone vibrating on the table with an alarm.

“Our meeting is soon. Thank you for your help, I’m sure we’ll be needing it again.”

All four of you stood rather stiffly, a tension lingering in the air like there were unspoken words left hanging between you. Admittedly, you still had more questions, and you presumed they did as well. But time was precious, and you knew it was dangerous for them to be discussing such things with you.

This kind of talk was treason for them. That hadn’t really settled in for you until you saw how quickly Pieck shoved the dirty receipt into her coat pocket and how Annie practically bolted from the back of the library already. Pieck waved to you as she left. She was slow on her feet, a slight limp holding her back.

“If you have a meeting soon, does that mean you need to go lock me away somewhere?”

Reiner actually looked quite hurt from your words, a frown twisting at the corner of his lips.

You were alone again, which felt quite comforting. You’d gotten used to your space being occupied by him, felt at ease in his presence.

He moved closer to you, warm, almost sweaty palms cupping at your cheeks, brushing hair out of your face.

“Technically...yes, I should take you back to my room. But…”

He felt too tall. You grabbed a hold of the labels of his jacket, trying to pull him closer.

“But?”

“But I think I can leave you here in the library for a bit. As long as you promise to be a good girl and not run away.”

The way the deep timbre of his voice rumbled _good girl_ had your stomach twisting into knots. He really was going to use that against you, wasn’t he?

You both broke out into smiles, with Reiner leaning down to capture the corner of your mouth in a kiss since no one was around to look.

“I hate you.”

“I know you do.”

He let you go, smoothing out his clothes as he turned to leave you.

“I’m serious,” he called over his shoulder, “be in that spot when I come back. And if anyone comes around, you have the Vice Commander’s permission to be here.”

You cocked your hip against the back of the chair, waving at him as he paused his walking for your response.

“I’ll be a good girl, promise.”

And with those words, you were alone for the first time in days. You’d been alone in your cell, been alone in the bathroom, but actually alone and...free? You hardly knew what that felt like.

━━━─── • ───━━━

Like you promised, you stayed in the back of the library. Reiner had been kind enough to not lock you away like some princess in a tower, so you knew better than to abuse his generosity.

It was like heaven and hell swirling together to be completely alone with your thoughts. You didn’t know what to think anymore, a cacophony of emotions and sentiments restless in your mind.

What the hell were you doing here? Was what you were doing really for survival, or pleasure? The weight of Reiner’s kiss was still heavy upon your mouth, like a stain you didn’t want to get rid of.

Why did you want him?

You knew the answer to that: you’d _always_ wanted him, desired to break him apart and find who he really was beneath all his armor.

Your life always seemed to circle back to him, even after all these years of you moving on from his betrayal. Maybe some sick god just liked toying with you, or maybe you were meant for another. You didn’t know. But what you did know was it felt good to be in his arms, to be under his protection.

But you could find that same happiness with someone else… you _had_ found that felicity with someone else. But he...he never really crossed your mind anymore, did he? Not unless you needed him. You hadn’t even gotten emotional sending him that email last night, you were just too anxious about Reiner waking up, too busy licking your wounds from a brutal fucking you hadn’t expected but fully wanted.

Some part of you reasoned that you were sleeping with him to use him, to make sure he was on your side. But you knew it was more than that, and that it was dangerous to let any romanticism sweep over your rational thinking. However, there was some part of you begging to take up his offer and run away together, especially after all these revelations about Zeke Yeager.

You could run away from all this, but would your morality let you? You’d already let it grey by sleeping with the enemy, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to jump ship and let others bear these burdens.

You were back in your seat, that familiar, beautiful book still laid out before you.

You hadn’t thought about the story of the nine titans, of the goddess Ymir Fritz, in what felt like a lifetime ago. Your fingertip traced over the gods of destruction, legends of old that used to permeate your daydreams and your nightmares.

The colossal titan. The armored titan. The attack titan. The female titan. They all surrounded the feet of the founding titan, of the goddess Ymir Fritz, with her flowing hair and her commanding horn in her fist.

For a moment you longed to be swept away into childhood fantasies again, to be far from this world and floating in ethereal daydreams where you felt like you were above the clouds.

You’d always assumed the book your mother had given you was special, but to be one that royal families held? You hadn’t expected that. You knew that the Reiss and Fritz families of Paradis and all their sprawling branches of cousins and relations kept a tight lock and key on family heirlooms in their estates. They believed they were descendants of these people, and given how beautiful Historia Reiss was, you wouldn’t be surprised if myths turned out to be truths.

Reiner wasn’t gone long, just about thirty minutes based on what the lonely clock on the back wall told you.

He returned with an unparalleled grin; he looked like a little boy holding a present behind his back, even with his fists sitting in his pockets.

“That was quick, I thought I’d get more time alone.”

“I have news.”

You quirked your brow at him, leaning your face into your palm as he stalked closer to the table.

“Must be some news for you to be wearing such a smile.”

“Apparently, General Magath was the one who received that interview Zeke recorded. And, based on your answers, he thinks you’re harmless and somehow so _willing_ to help Marley.”

“Well I did try to sound convincing.”

“It worked. They’re making you a warrior candidate.”

You felt like doing a double take at his words. The thought of you being a candidate for the elite military unit that you were actively fighting against was _laughable._

“You’re joking.”

He shrugged, chuckling and shaking his head.

“I still have strict orders to keep you under my supervision, so you’re not rid of me yet.”

“To be fair,” you stood from your seat, closing the book and circling around to get closer to him, “I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of you.”

All that tension from before seemed to be alleviated from the air, a whole new game opening up for you to partake in. He must have felt it too, that grin still creasing the soft, blonde hair around his lips.

You knew the undeniable truth was that you didn’t want to be rid of him. At least, not yet. Not when there were so many things to explore about him, so much skin still left untouched, so much heart still left unread.

And just like the pages on the table, you desired to be opened and read by him, to be explored by hands you had thought about far too often.

You didn’t want to be rid of him, not when he looked down at you with golden irises painted with remorse and misery that seemed to reflect your own inner turmoils. He was like your emotional mirror, always reflecting whatever you put onto him.

It was beguiling, but also so, so frightening.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered, hands finding their home again on your face.

“I know you will.”


End file.
